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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160658">(We can) turn this world inside out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/distinctive_pineapples/pseuds/distinctive_pineapples'>distinctive_pineapples</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merlyn Boys [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Arrow (TV 2012), Chicago Med</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, And two bros being dumbasses, Connor Rhodes and Tommy Merlyn are Twins, Gen, Just twins being bros, League of Assassins - Freeform, Multiple Alternate Universes, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychic Bond, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel Fix-It</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:13:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,545</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160658</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/distinctive_pineapples/pseuds/distinctive_pineapples</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A grab-bag of moments in the lives of Connor Rhodes and Tommy Merlyn, twins, in both the <i>Old enough</i> 'verse and the worlds next door.</p><p>Recent installments:<br/>13) <i>Old enough</i> 'verse: Nightmares and the comfort of late-night chats.<br/>14) Direct follow-up to Chapter 13<br/>15) <i>Old enough</i> 'verse: A quiet night in with the brothers (bantering included).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tommy Merlyn &amp; Connor Rhodes (Chicago Med)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Merlyn Boys [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1521572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>42</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Talk all day (but it's what you show)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So... this is not actually the sequel I was referencing when I wrapped up <i>Old enough</i>. Rest assured, that one (due to be comprised of alternate POVs and missing scenes from the original story) is coming in the future, eventually. But I kind of got a little... <i>sidetracked</i>.</p><p>It's a good sort of sidetracked, or at least I hope so. As much as I adored writing <i>Old enough</i> from the lens of Connor's grief, I desperately wanted to write more of Connor and Tommy's chaotic shenanigans, and the sequel idea I had was due to take a more serious approach. I'd then decided to create a <i>second</i> sequel, to serve as a catchall for such brotherly scenes, as well as further study into the Merlyn Boys across the multiverse (because I had plenty more ideas beyond what I introduced in the<i>Old enough</i> epilogue).</p><p>I was going to wait until I had at least some work done on the first sequel, but I was traveling and dear Abbie decided to give me some prompts to work on for the Boys, and that spurred a few other requests. So since I have a few things down and a little bit more to come on Tumblr, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to break ground on more Merlyn Boys AO3 content!</p><p>Expect the series order to change whenever I get that original sequel (<i>A Voice Behind the Wall</i>) up, but in the meantime, please enjoy some classic Tommy and Connor bonding in all its heart-twisting and humorous glory.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One-word prompt from Abbie: Misunderstanding</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>April 2010</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Tommy wakes—mouth feeling like an old, musty sock has taken up residence—to what sounds like a sledgehammer slamming into concrete.</p><p>“For the headache,” is all Connor says as he releases his grip on the water glass now on the coffee table. Without even sparing a glance at Tommy (who surely looks like death hungover and blackmail picture-perfect), he slaps two Aspirin down next to the glass and turns on his heel to vanish into the kitchen.</p><p>Letting out a pitiful groan, Tommy slowly peels his cheek free from one of the pleather cushions on his brother’s couch before flapping a hand blindly over the coffee table to find the deposited goods. His fingers catch on the rim of the glass and almost send its contents spilling over, but his reflexes aren’t so impaired that he can’t stop it. The medicine is much easier to track down, and the pills are tossed back with the water right as his brain begins making dial-up noises and coming back online.</p><p><em>Ugh</em>, whatever (or however much) he drank last night was one of the stupider choices Tommy’s made in a while—probably not since…</p><p>Well. It’s been a long time.</p><p>Cracking his neck in chorus with a loud, obnoxious yawn, Tommy lumbers into the kitchen as the heavy scent of warm bread and bacon hits his nose. It’s just greasy and edible-smelling enough to confirm that today’s breakfast comes courtesy of Gotham’s finest sandwich stand.</p><p>“I was about to say, if I came in here to a stack of those dirty kitchen sponges you call pancakes, I was going to call in the hazardous waste team,” Tommy admits, unceremoniously collapsing into the open chair and snatching a bundle of egg, cheese, and bacon-stuffed goodness. “Seriously, I don’t know how you manage to determine the medication and dose size needed to treat actual people, yet you can’t handle a breakfast classic off a recipe.”</p><p>Connor just glowers at him from the other side of the table, taking a deep swig of his coffee and remaining silent.</p><p>Tommy can feel the frost wafting off of his twin, though, and scrambles to sit upright and at attention. This is about more than Connor’s oft-toxic cooking now.</p><p>“What’s… are you…” Tommy fumbles, not sure how to broach the subject. Then, finally, shoulders hunching and voice resigned: “What did I do?”</p><p>He’s been on the receiving end of that look too many times—from peers, flings, and, most of all, his father—to deny that fault lies squarely on his shoulders. And it figures that he’s added insult to injury in that he was<em> just</em> plastered enough last night to have forgotten whatever he’s done to upset his brother.</p><p>But Connor takes one look at him and sets down his mug, shaking his head as the tension leaches out of his body. “Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing.” He kicks back his chair and starts to move towards the fridge. “You’re not up for coffee yet, so your choices are either juice or…”</p><p>Tommy’s fist meets the tabletop before his brain catches up to him. “<em>Dammit</em>, Connor!” he snaps, turning a bleary-eyed glare on his brother. “You don’t get to pull this with me, not when you’re the one always validating how I’m feeling. Guess what, <em>dingbat</em>, it’s a two-way street, and if I owe you an apology, I’d like to know it!”</p><p>If anything, the outburst sufficiently makes his brother pause, closing the refrigerator door and turning back to Tommy with his arms crossed. “Dingbat?” he repeats, eyebrow arched and voice barely smothering his rising amusement.</p><p>Tommy rolls his eyes. “Excuse<em> me</em> for not wanting to infringe on your territory of calling me ‘asshole’ and other variants.”</p><p>“No, no, I thought it was a creative choice,” Connor defends, flapping one hand as his lips twitch in a losing battle to keep his composure. “Very…” he clears his throat, “<em>middle school</em>.”</p><p>Tommy sighs, letting his head dangle over the back of his chair as he leans it back on two legs. “Yeah, well, I have a lot of ground to cover on the juvenile insults, after so many ye-….”</p><p><em>Man, I’m </em>so glad<em> I grew up as an only child.</em></p><p>The words come at him from under the heavy fog that coats most of last night, and Tommy jerks bolt upright, nearly knocking both the chair and himself over.</p><p>Oh, yeah, assuming that he didn’t give an explanation for the phrasing, that would do it.</p><p>“Connie,” he starts, slipping into the annoying nickname with an unusual seriousness that it immediately draws his brother’s attention. “You… you know that I’m really glad we found each other, right?”</p><p>Connor’s brow furrows and his mouth pops open just slightly, but he thinks better of saying anything and just nods.</p><p>“Great,” Tommy acknowledges, before his thumb and index finger come up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “And… you know that I sometimes don’t have the best grasp on what I’m saying until it’s too late.”</p><p>“Understatement,” his brother murmurs, before speaking up with a clearer, “Yes.”</p><p>Dropping his hand, Tommy blows out a deep breath and stands up, both twins now on the same level and seeing eye-to-eye. “So, with those factors in mind, it’s fair to say that I didn’t exactly phrase my gratitude in the best way last night.”</p><p>Connor’s arms are still crossed, but the look in his eyes and the tilt of his head are a clear invitation to continue.</p><p>“Look, if we actually grew up together, do you think we’d be anywhere near as close as adults?” Tommy asks, motioning a hand between the two of them. “Honestly, I feel like you’d have tried to kill me at least twelve times over by now out of annoyance because I’d have provoked you, and we’d either hate each other for years or just… grow apart.”</p><p>“You feel like we found each other when we needed each other, and<em> only</em> then,” Connor reads between the lines. “And you’re glad that, ah, growing up alone made you more receptive to gaining a sibling later in life.”</p><p>“Quit giving me reasons why <em>you</em> should do the talking from now on,” Tommy warns, playfully jabbing a finger just short of Connor’s nose, before shrugging. “But yeah, more or less.”</p><p>That earns a small yet fond smile. “Then I’m sorry for misunderstanding.”</p><p>Tommy scoffs. “<em>I’m</em> sorry for thinking I was articulate enough to get that across after more than a few beers.” With a grin, he throws his arms wide. “Hug it out and call it even?”</p><p>“Deal,” Connor agrees with a false nonchalance, as if Tommy isn’t already aware of how much of a hug monster his twin is.</p><p>They match each other in strength of grip, both hoping to convey exactly how much they care about and are appreciative of each other. That said, it’s not so tight an embrace that Tommy can’t quickly maneuver his index finger from his tongue to Connor’s ear.</p><p>“<em>Augh</em>, are you<em> six</em>?” Connor blurts, rearing back and swiping at his ear in disgust. “Do you have <em>any idea</em> of the bacteria…”</p><p>“Nope, but I imagine <em>you</em> do, good Dr. Rhodes,” Tommy quips, taking a smooth yet lengthy step back to make a run for it. “Like I said, lots of ground to cov-…”</p><p>The rest of that sentence leaves Tommy’s lungs with all of his air as Connor’s retaliating flying tackle catches him right in the midsection.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Honestly, these two bring out the stupid in each other in ways no one else does, and I will forever love them for it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The More You Learn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One-word prompt from Anonymous: Unconscious</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Short one, but I had to do something 100% goofy this time around.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>July 2009</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Just give me the damn guitar, it’s not like you know how to play it.”</p>
<p>Tommy chokes on his glass of water at the unprovoked and slightly slurred outburst rising up from the couch behind him. Casting a fleeting glance at the TV (whose programming—some old late-night sitcom rerun—has nothing to do with guitars), he cranes his neck over his shoulder to give his brother a perplexed look.</p>
<p>Not that Connor can see it, given the crossed arms and lax expression that clearly indicate that he’s taken a trip to Dreamland.</p>
<p>As if on cue, his mouth pops open on a half-snort, before he mumbles, “I’mmunna smack you if you steal my cotton candy.”</p>
<p>Tommy reacts like a sink filled with soap—eyes sliding in incredulousness as he surveys Connor up and down, before the water hits and one tiny bubble of laughter pops up, then another, and then hundreds in rapid succession. Not even the fist Tommy brings to his lips is enough to stopper the giggles fizzing in his chest and shaking his entire body.</p>
<p>He admittedly still has a lot to learn about his newly rediscovered twin, but the fact that Connor’s a <em>sleep-talker</em> is a gold mine Tommy never anticipated.</p>
<p>Biting his lip in an attempt to tone down the laughter enough to speak, Tommy takes a deep breath and considers his next course of action. “Hey… hey, Connie?” he finally asks, voice pitched<em> just</em> slightly higher than normal. “You up for a trip to Vegas? I think you’ve missed your calling as a showgirl.”</p>
<p>The responding, “Shotgun,” is just distinct enough to knock Tommy flat on his back and leave him clutching at his chest from the tension of holding back his guffaws.</p>
<p>Oh… oh,<em> this</em> is something he needs to get on record.</p>
<p>Pushing himself up and onto his knees, Tommy shuffles a hand over the coffee table, hastily searching for his phone. His fingers finally graze the familiar edges of the device, and he slides it closer, a wicked cackle already echoing in his head as he begins to set his plan in motion.</p>
<p>By the time Tommy gets the camera pulled up and turns back to his brother, though, Connor’s eyes are wide open and staring intensely back at him.</p>
<p>“<em>Gah!</em>” On that oh-so-eloquent greeting, Tommy’s backside meets floor, and his feet unconsciously propel him back and away from the couch.</p>
<p>Connor just keeps staring blankly back at him, not registering the startled recoil in the slightest. The moment breaks, though, when he murmurs sagely, “Only <em>you</em> can prevent forest fires,” before his head lolls back over the couch and an earth-shaking snore makes its way up from his throat.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Slipping</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>One-word prompt from Anonymous: Unconscious (the Redux)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Our first glimpse into the post-epilogue future of the <i>Old enough</i> universe! </p>
<p>...I'll say I'm sorry for making <i>this</i> the commemorative voyage, but I'll not apologize for bringing it to life. Listen, it was going to happen at some point, and the prompt offered me the perfect opening.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>June 2020</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>Out of bed. Shower. Clothes. Coffee.</em>
</p>
<p>The familiar routine clicks into place as soon as Connor gives the alarm clock a final smack for good measure. Honestly, one of these days he’s just going to chuck it at the wall and buy one that’s considerably less annoying, at least by alarm clock standards.</p>
<p>Scrunching his nose and eyes as he lets out a noise of displeasure, Connor allows himself to have this one short moment of grousing before his body gets back with the program and slides out from under the covers to a stand.</p>
<p>That’s step one complete. Now it’s just show-…</p>
<p>Something clatters in the kitchen, followed by a muffled expletive and the sound of water running. And just like that, Connor feels the gears guiding him automatically through his morning grind and stop, jerking him forward and into alertness.</p>
<p>There shouldn’t be anyone else here.</p>
<p>Slipping out of his room and edging his way towards the source of the noise—back pressed stealthily against the wall—Connor’s brain immediately launches into a plan of attack. There’s a heavy bookend on one of his living area shelves, just before the kitchen, which could do in a pinch. And by the time he gets to the kitchen proper…</p>
<p>“Gee, well, good morning, Jason Bourne.”</p>
<p>Connor freezes, head whipping (and heart pounding) towards the voice—familiar, <em>too</em> familiar—coming from the kitchen threshold.</p>
<p>Tommy arches an eyebrow and gives him a once-over. “You done sneaking around? Because I decided to be the <em>very</em> best brother and make us some breakfast before we head out, and I’d like to know that I didn’t accidentally slice my hand for nothing.” To punctuate, he waves his left hand, where a paper towel is visibly tucked in between his thumb and index finger.</p>
<p>A rock settles in Connor’s chest, even as he slowly pushes off the wall and takes a few tentative steps forward. It’s now becoming abundantly clear to him what happened, and it’s taking all of his available strength to keep his composure.</p>
<p>But trust his brother, his <em>twin</em>, to see through him anyway. Tommy frowns, walking carefully to meet Connor halfway as he considers the prolonged silence. “Hey, you seemed pretty alright with the plan last night—swing by the planetarium, check out some stars, get some great sandwiches, remember? Unless you changed your…”</p>
<p>A betraying, choked whimper finally squeaks out of Connor’s throat, and the sudden, stomach-flipping drop of Tommy’s expression into one of such heartbroken realization makes it so much harder to fight back the others threatening to rise.</p>
<p>“Oh,” Tommy says, voice so very timid. “You… you <em>forgot</em> again, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>Connor doesn’t speak up with an answer, but the way his shoulders curl in is confirmation enough.</p>
<p>It should be an unconscious thing at this point, remembering—<em>knowing</em>—that Tommy is alive, is breathing, just like Connor. They’ve had each other again for months now, been so ingrained in their lives that it’d be hard to believe that they’d spent the vast majority of their existences separated. So why is it just so <em>hard</em> for Connor to shake those six years of hell, of living as one half of a shattered pair, with no hope for the miracle that he eventually, <em>impossibly</em>, received?</p>
<p>At this point, it’s… it’s almost an <em>insult</em>, utter ingratitude for the return of something—<em>someone</em>—lost beyond reach, when so very many never have the same privilege.</p>
<p>The weight of Tommy’s hands on his shoulders, and then wrapped around him as they pull him in for a tight, reassuring hug, almost makes things <em>worse</em>. It’s physical, undeniable evidence of what Connor should inherently already know, and it just makes him feel <em>undeserving</em>.</p>
<p>But almost as if he <em>knows</em>—and maybe he does, maybe the connection through which Connor felt that traumatic resonance <em>that night</em> lingers still, and goes both ways—Tommy murmurs, “Quit it, twerp.”</p>
<p>And Connor can’t help but let out a watery laugh, at the “older brother” (<em>honestly</em>, Tommy’s going to lord that over him<em> forever</em>) flavor of insult, at the adamant shutdown of his spiral. It all just makes him so damn <em>glad</em> to have his brother back, through both his physical return all those months back, and the rush of its recollection over the past few moments.</p>
<p>“We’ll figure it out,” Tommy promises. “Whatever it takes. I’ll be a human pop-up notification, I’ll keep getting in your way and reminding you, until you finally have to go into Settings and turn them off.” He cracks a small smile. “Hopefully, by that point, you’ll have it all handled on your own.”</p>
<p>“Well, you <em>do</em> already have the annoying part down,” Connor notes, poking his brother in the shoulder for emphasis. After a moment, though, he matches Tommy with a twin grin. “But yeah, maybe someday.”</p>
<p>A someday when his default is no longer counting the years since his brother’s death and instead looking forward to whatever chaos Tommy has planned for the day.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This marks the end of the <i>Old enough</i> prompt fills I have thus far, so depending on what gets pulled together in the coming days/weeks, the next chapter will either be additional post-epilogue scenes for the <i>Old enough</i> Boys, or one of the alternate counterparts. We'll see what shakes out!</p>
<p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The 2020 Merlyn Boys Holiday Calendar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>12 National Days, as celebrated in the classic Merlyn Boys way.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, it turns out I was able to wrap up the missing scenes for this sooner than I expected, so here's our next venture into the post-epilogue <i>Old enough</i> universe!</p>
<p>This all spawned when I was trying to prompt myself into writing Connor and Tommy goofiness, and had the thought to look up a list of "National Days" to give me ideas and a frame of reference. This gave me the opportunity to slot in a few little bits I'd already had planned, so it worked well for that too! So here's a bunch of short scenes, all centered in some way around a corresponding holiday.</p>
<p>Quick note about the timeline, as things changed a little since I wrote <i>Old enough</i>: I previously called out that I'd only watched <i>Arrow</i> through most of season 3, so that was the timeline I was working off of, but it could be assumed that later events also happened. I'm going to backtrack on that a bit: we're going to stick with the season 3 benchmark for the most part, and I might just borrow/adjust things from later canon as I see fit while ignoring others. Wanted to call out here, since a few other characters who have died at some point post-season 3 are mentioned in this segment--let's say that didn't happen. </p>
<p>In relation, while <i>some</i> sort of Crisis was alluded to near the end of <i>Old enough</i>, this is one that wouldn't have happened as in canon (I also didn't watch it, so it's moot). Tommy noting in the <i>Old enough</i> epilogue that so many people he knows are either "<i>gone</i> or MIA" is due to the fact that he resurrected right in the middle of this version of Crisis, so basically everyone was off dealing with that at the time.</p>
<p>Finally, many thanks to Mari, for giving me the idea for and Tommy's reply in one of the later sections (and being part of the Merlyn Boys universe since the beginning); and Abbie, for volleying scene ideas around with me and always getting me even more attached to these two boys.</p>
<p>So now: enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>January 28<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>
  <em>“Thomas.”</em>
</p>
<p>Sarah starts, abruptly glancing up from her case file and zeroing in on the source of the firm-voiced greeting.</p>
<p>Dr. Rhodes stands stock-still just outside the staff locker area door, hands frozen near his shoulders and mid-tug on the fabric of his thick winter jacket. His blue eyes are wide in horror, and that’s enough to make Sarah feel her blood go cold and her gaze snap to follow Rhodes’s.</p>
<p>What she finds just leaves her with even more questions.</p>
<p>Tommy Merlyn grins and waves cheerily at his brother from the nurses’ station, just as Maggie rolls her eyes and shakes her head—a move Sarah’s understood to mean “This isn’t going to end well, so don’t come crying to me.” Tommy returns with an easy shrug, eyes not leaving his twin.</p>
<p>Rhodes drops his hands from his jacket as his shoulders sag in defeat. “Don’t you <em>dare</em>,” he warns, though it barely squeaks out.</p>
<p>The bright smile doesn’t falter on Tommy’s face at the words—if anything, it grows wider and even more mischievous. Almost imperceptibly, a hand slips into the unzipped pocket of his jacket, and slowly slides out…</p>
<p>A cheap blue plastic kazoo.</p>
<p>“Tommy, <em>please</em>,” Rhodes begs, voice breaking on the last word. “You couldn’t have chosen National Blueberry Pancake Day?”</p>
<p>Undeterred, Tommy spares but a split second to shoot a wink at Sarah out of the corner of his eye, before lifting the instrument to his lips.</p>
<p>Sarah still feels her cheeks burning long after the twins and the bleating cover of "Cotton-Eye Joe" have run out of the building.</p>
<p>
  <strong>- National Kazoo Day - </strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>February 20<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“They’re sisters,” Tommy says, as if that’ll somehow explain why he’d called Connor down here so urgently.</p>
<p>Connor’s gaze drifts with a false nonchalance from the Basset Hound in Tommy’s lap and to the fluffy black Newfoundland sitting politely by the rescue volunteer’s feet. “You don’t say.”</p>
<p>“Survived on the street together, got picked up together,” Tommy clarifies, eyes not leaving the Basset’s droopy ones as he strokes a thumb over the top of her head. “And neither likes to be separated from the other, so they come as a two-pack for adoption.”</p>
<p>And <em>there</em> it is.</p>
<p>“Tommy, I can’t take them,” Connor sighs, though any exasperation evaporates into sincere apology upon one look at the Newfoundland’s gently-thumping tail. “Not with the hours I keep. And even if you can watch them now, since you’ve basically taken over half of my place, that’s not going to be a long-term solution. I am already <em>this close</em> to being glad we didn’t grow up in the same house, and trust me, neither of us will want me to hit that point.”</p>
<p>His brother’s hand slows its rubbing of the Basset’s fur (to her disappointment, based on the subsequent whine and headbutt against his hand), and Tommy finally looks up at Connor with a sheepish grin. “So, this is probably a good time to mention that I just signed a lease for a pet-friendly apartment in Lincoln Park?”</p>
<p>…Does it make Connor a bad brother to admit that his first reaction to that is near-uncontainable joy over getting his spare room back?</p>
<p>“I- I thought you were moving back to Star City once you got everything in order,” Connor stammers once the surprise sets in, brain clicking along as it tries to process the news. “You got the legal resurrection settled, your friends are all back where they should be… everything’s in place for you to get back to your life.”</p>
<p>It’s what makes sense, after all. Connor knows that Tommy has also been getting worn down from crashing at Connor’s place for so long. That was made clear from last week’s cereal debacle.</p>
<p>Yet as much as Connor wants his brother out of his house—at least in terms of an extended residence—his stomach has always twisted a bit at the thought. Tommy leaving meant Tommy going back <em>home</em>, back to Oliver Queen and everyone else who’ll make his life complete. While Connor can’t begrudge his brother that happiness, his own selfishness makes him <em>fear</em>—fear the consequences Tommy might face for being a Merlyn back in Star City; fear that there might be <em>none</em> and Tommy will slide into his old life with a fluid ease and no need for anything else; (irrational) fear that this might make the twins grow distant, brotherhood whittled down to the occasional visit, then call, then text, then radio silence until they’re back to being identical satellites whose trajectories never cross.</p>
<p>But most of all, fear that every day Connor will wake up and <em>forget</em>, and take much too long to remember that his brother breathes the same as him.</p>
<p>Somehow, though, this turn of events had never crossed Connor’s mind, and he’s not entirely sure what to do about that.</p>
<p>The Newfoundland’s handler shifts uncomfortably on her feet a bit, clearly unprepared to deal with two brothers hashing out their lives today, but neither twin pays her any mind.</p>
<p>“Connie, I literally lived in Starling from birth until death,” Tommy starts, eyes suddenly looking so, <em>so</em> much older. “We both know how my life went. So now that I have another chance, I just… I want a little time to figure things out for myself. You know, find out who I am and what I want without people trying to tell me based on personal history.”</p>
<p>“What about Oliver?” Connor forces himself to ask, because who is he to defy the multiverse and deny the bond between his brother and Queen. He covers it up for his own sake, though, with, “I’m sure Thea would love to have another brother reliably around, too.”</p>
<p>That just brings a gentle, almost sad smile that looks discomfortingly out-of-place on Tommy’s face, but its genuineness is palpable. “It’s been a long, long time since we all fit together. I don’t want to be the one old piece trying to squeeze my way in. It’s time I retouch a few edges and see how I click into place later.”</p>
<p>He allows himself a short moment more with his vulnerabilities laid bare, before he shrugs and turns casually back to the Basset Hound as he scratches her belly. “And yeah, I could have gone anywhere to find myself and all that—well, anywhere except an island, obviously. But, you know, you’ve got Gino’s East here.” Tommy casts a glance up at Connor out of the corner of his eye at that.</p>
<p>Connor crosses his arms and rocks back on his heels. “I still don’t get how you prefer that over Giordano’s,” he scoffs, before responding to the underlying reason for Tommy’s decision with a heartfelt, “and I’d miss you too.”</p>
<p>Tommy shoots him an answering grin. “So it’s settled, then.” Giving the Basset Hound one final pat as he moves to stand up, he turns to the poor, forgotten volunteer. “What are the next steps for me to get these two to their forever home?”</p>
<p>Stunned to suddenly be addressed, the handler offers to track down an available adoption counselor to get the paperwork and fees sorted. It’s only after she’s left the room with the Newfoundland that Connor’s brain catches up with the situation and he levels a glare at his brother.</p>
<p>“You asshole, did you just call me down here so you could mooch off of me to cover the adoption fees?” Last he’d checked, Tommy hardly had any money to his recently-resurrected name—certainly not enough to over his own place and the care of two dogs.</p>
<p>Tommy looks genuinely surprised by the accusation, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. But slowly, his lips spread into a shark-like grin. “No, I thought I’d let Dad cover it.”</p>
<p>Connor’s sure his eyebrows have disappeared into his hairline in suspicion.</p>
<p>Tommy just waves it off. “Felicity tracked down some secret accounts of his, and we pulled a little<em> inheritance</em> from them. Not much, just enough to cover things until I’m making my <em>own</em> money and can definitively cut any financial ties to him.”</p>
<p>“And the dogs?” Connor nods to the Basset Hound, who’s lumbered over to inspect his shoes.</p>
<p>The wicked smile is back. “I figured that if he could remember well enough the dog I wanted when I was younger that he refused to get, then he could <em>certainly</em> help out now.”</p>
<p>Well, some revenge is best served as a bowl of kibble.</p>
<p>Even still, that doesn’t answer the question that Connor has now realized he’s never vocalized: “So why am <em>I</em> here?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I just wanted them to meet Uncle Connie right away,” Tommy explains, before nodding to the Basset. “Gwen here caught my attention first—her full name’s Guinevere, and that just seemed like too much of a sign to pass it by.”</p>
<p>Connor bends down a bit to let Gwen sniff his hand and get used to his scent. “And the Newfoundland?”</p>
<p>Tommy grins. “That’s Cayenne.”</p>
<p>“Cayenne,” Connor repeats, just as the door clicks open and the volunteer and aforementioned dog return.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I heard she has a real <em>kick</em> to her,” Connor hears his brother’s smug voice quip, moments after Cayenne has broken free of her handler’s grip and bowled Connor over in excitement.</p>
<p>
  <strong>- National Love Your Pet Day - </strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>March 18<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“Heeeeeeeyyyy, Mag-…”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s expression droops into the most pleading, most manipulative kicked-puppy look. “So I can’t interest you in a free calendar?”</p>
<p>Setting the desk phone back down, Maggie shifts her weight to the side leaning against the nurses’ counter and gives him a pointed look. “You’ve darkened my ED enough times for me to recognize that ‘free’ comes at the expense of your brother’s dignity.”</p>
<p>Tommy just tucks in his bottom lip and raises his eyebrows, matching her with a guileless stare.</p>
<p>Maggie lets but a moment pass, before heaving an exaggerated sigh and holding out her hand.</p>
<p>She’s soon rewarded with a full-sized wall calendar, the cover of which features a blown-up photo of Connor Rhodes, looking like the camera caught him <em>right</em> before a massive sneeze.</p>
<p>“<em>Ohhhhh</em>, the fact that you spent the time and money to make this should concern me,” Maggie deadpans, flipping through month after month of Rhodes caught in some of the most hilariously cringe-worthy moments. She takes a moment to appreciate the flash of toned abs in one photo (though the effect is largely ruined by the painfully rubbery look on Connor’s face as a beach ball smacks him in the side of the head), before looking back up at Tommy’s impish grin.</p>
<p>Now <em>that</em> is the look of a man with no regrets, and that of a fool who doesn’t appropriately fear his identical twin’s swift vengeance.</p>
<p>As if summoned, Rhodes comes up from behind on the opposite end of the counter, tapping Maggie on the shoulder with an unusually light-weight folder. She sets the calendar down to accept it, which gives Connor a clear view of his younger self, giving the camera a sulky look while clad in a violently bright Hawaiian shirt and utterly soaked.</p>
<p>“Okay, I need to know which of my med school friends broke confidentiality, because there is <em>no way </em>you should have that picture,” he says, jabbing a stern finger at his brother.</p>
<p>“I think the more important question here is: do you like piña coladas?” Tommy asks, tossing Connor a knowing smirk. “Because you sure got caught in the rain dressed like that.”</p>
<p>Expecting things to evolve into full-on brotherly bickering, Maggie rolls her eyes and tunes out, finally turning her attention to the delivered file.</p>
<p>There’s no way to hold back the surprised snort of amusement that slips out once she finally gets a look at the contents.</p>
<p>The twins immediately go silent, though the energy radiating off of each one couldn’t be more opposite.</p>
<p>“Connie. What did you <em>do</em>.”</p>
<p>Rhodes just coolly regards his brother, lips twitching in a barely-there but still incredibly wicked grin. “I think you and I both know, brother.”</p>
<p>Tommy ekes out a noise that can only be described as akin to a scandalized chipmunk.</p>
<p>With a low whistle that snags on a resurgence of laughter, Maggie closes the file and hands it back to Connor. “You seriously take no prisoners, Rhodes.” Turning to Tommy, she warns, “Might want to remember what I’ve seen the next time you try to pull me into your pettiness.”</p>
<p>Satisfied by the rapid-fire nods of understanding, Maggie leaves the twins with a triumphant grin of her own, before heading down to the other end of the counter.</p>
<p>Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Tommy drop his face into his hands. “You’re terrible, you know that, right? You don’t see me digging up <em>your</em> humiliating preteen photos. I have <em>standards</em>.”</p>
<p>“And <em>I</em> do what needs to be done,” Connor retorts, clapping his brother hard on the back before walking away.</p>
<p><strong>- National Awkward Moments Day - </strong> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>April 17<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>3:17 AM CST</em>
</p>
<p>if sleep finds you well</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>3:17 AM CST</em>
</p>
<p>i regret to inform you</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>3:18 AM CST</em>
</p>
<p>i need forty bucks</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>3:20 AM CST</em>
</p>
<p>I’m much too sleepy</p>
<p>to say anything besides:</p>
<p>you are an asshole</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>- National Haiku Poetry Day -</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>May 9<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“Connie. Connie, <em>look</em>.”</p>
<p>“What am I supposed to be looking at?”</p>
<p>“<em>Exactly</em>. I’m sending a photo to Oliver.”</p>
<p>“… Sometimes I wonder if I should have ordered that PET scan when you first showed up after six years. I swear at least half of your brain cells failed to resurrect with you.”</p>
<p>“No, no, you don’t get it. Connie, we’re at an intro-level archery class, at a certified training range.”</p>
<p>“Yes, and I still can’t believe I let you drag me out here.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>please</em>, don’t act like you’re not hoping you’ll be a naturally talented shot.”</p>
<p>“<em>Hrnn</em>.”</p>
<p>“But seriously: beginner’s lesson. They’re assigning us bows. <em>Where are the bowls of water we’re supposed to be slapping before we do anything</em>?”</p>
<p><strong> - National Archery Day - </strong> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>June 13<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“Is it… <em>fatal</em>?” Tommy gasps breathlessly, head tilted dramatically back over the couch’s armrest. He cracks on eye open under the arm draped over his face, keeping a bead on the hand currently in Connor’s more-than-capable ones.</p>
<p>Gritting his teeth as he feels a vein in his temple throb, Connor grumbles, “If you keep <em>asking</em> me that, I will find a way to <em>make</em> it fatal.” To punctuate the threat, he applies a final swab of burn cream and secures the bandage to Tommy’s palm a little bit more forcefully than necessary.</p>
<p>Tommy lets out an affronted squawk, dropping his free arm to turn his head to the armchair perpendicular to him and shriek, “Medical malpractice! Get my lawyer on the case!”</p>
<p>“Tommy, let your brother treat your hand,” Laurel chides, not even looking up from her legal brief.</p>
<p><strong> - National Kitchen Klutzes of America Day -</strong> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>July 29<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>Will understands brotherly competitiveness, he really does. And almost as clearly, he understands that Connor Rhodes is of the frustratingly bullheaded sort, who never backs down from a challenge.</p>
<p>That said, even with those two elements combined, the predicted result doesn’t hold a candle to the <em>actual</em> idiocy Rhodes and his twin regularly engage in.</p>
<p>It’s almost morbidly fascinating, watching Tommy Merlyn nudge the cluster of various hot sauces to the other side of the table, eyes not leaving his twin’s as they engage in a stare-down to rival old Westerns. “Your move.”</p>
<p>Connor’s right eyebrow twitches just slightly, before he pops the lids on the two hottest ones and tips the bottles in tandem over the wing on his plate, unblinking. “I’ll see you in hell, <em>brother</em>,” he promises with a certain gravitas, passing the open bottles over to Merlyn for his turn.</p>
<p>“May the best twin claim the throne,” he declares, and in perfect, mirrored unison, they seal their fates.</p>
<p>(Will doesn’t miss Connor’s smug look when Tommy yells from the heat, but it’s almost immediately swept under by his own frantic dive for refreshment as sweat rolls down his face.)</p>
<p><strong>- National Chicken Wing Day - </strong> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>August 16<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“Tommy <em>MARLIN!</em>”</p>
<p>Ethan nearly spews that last sip of his beer across the bar counter as Connor blurts his brother’s name almost directly in his ear.</p>
<p>“The <em>hell</em>, Rhodes?” he grouses, rubbing the offended appendage as he turns to glare at the other man.</p>
<p>…Who’s completely ignoring him, preoccupied with jabbing a finger just short of his twin’s nose with a face-splitting grin of triumph.</p>
<p>Merlyn just stares back in utter confusion for a moment, before his brow furrows and he sets down his drink.</p>
<p>“Let me get this straight,” he starts, smacking his brother’s hand away from his face. “It took you <em>ten years</em> to come up with a decent comeback to that joke?”</p>
<p>Connor scrunches his slightly-flushed cheeks in displeasure. “I had better things to do with my time,” he pouts.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure,” Merlyn drawls. “Except that was literally something I texted to you in the middle of the night. While drunk.” He breaks into a smug grin of his own, lifting his glass in victory. “I guess the <em>real</em> joke here is how <em>you’re</em> somehow the sophisticated, successful twin.”</p>
<p>Ethan has to wonder that himself when Connor looks his brother dead in the eye and flicks a peanut at him in retaliation.</p>
<p>
  <strong> - National Tell a Joke Day -</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>September 5<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“I’m just saying, there’s a fine line between facial hair and going full Yukon Cornelius.”</p>
<p>“Yes, well, it’s still a better look than jealousy,” Connor returns in a voice that on anyone else could be considered sing-song.</p>
<p>The expression that crosses Tommy’s face is closer to disgust than envy. “If that was my concern, I wouldn’t have made shaving my top priority after getting out of Starling and tracking you down.”</p>
<p>All the humor bubbling in Connor’s chest vaporizes the second his brother’s words hit.</p>
<p>Immediately sensing the tone shift, Tommy lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, just a joke.”</p>
<p>“Right,” Connor says slowly, turning the words over in his mind. “Because all you’ve <em>ever</em> done is joke about the fact that you died and came back.” He finally lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, emotion stripped raw as the horrible realization finally clicks into place, nearly a year later than it should have. “Have… have you even <em>processed</em> that?”</p>
<p>Defensively, Tommy’s mouth draws in a thin line, and he pointedly looks away as his arms cross and shoulders hunch.</p>
<p>The motion sparks something in Connor’s chest, a fire that just wants to rage, to burn some sense into his brother.</p>
<p>“You were <em>murdered</em>,” he seethes, “I <em>felt</em> you die. Sometimes I still have nightmares about the pain, about my lungs and mouth filling with blood, and I only ever got the phantom impressions! But you…” he scrubs a hand over the bottom half of his face (over his <em>beard</em>, the very instigator of this confrontation). “You <em>lived</em> it, and died from it. And you were brought back, having lost over six years of life in-between, but the only thing you can do is <em>make fun</em> of it?”</p>
<p>“Well <em>what else</em> do you want me to do?” Tommy all but screams, and Connor almost stumbles back from the shock of hearing Tommy’s voice raised in frustration, in <em>agony</em>—in anything other than just manic laughter—for the first time in his life.</p>
<p>Chest heaving, Tommy drags his tense hands through his hair. “Yeah, I <em>died</em>. I was dead!” The declaration leaves him almost in hysterics. “And I still get these indistinct flashes of what it was like, and of the times I got yanked back here because my best friend regularly runs headlong into near-death, but it’s all so detached, like it was some sort of dream.”</p>
<p>He drops his hands with his shoulders, and says in such a lost tone, “But there’s… there’s this <em>gap</em>, this chasm between Being Alive Then and Being Alive Now. So surely <em>something</em> happened, like maybe those bits of memory are real, but I didn’t exactly <em>live</em> it to be able to confirm, did I?”</p>
<p>With every word, Connor’s stomach twists tighter and tighter into a vicious knot. It’s equally out of empathetic pain that Tommy had to go through all of this life, death, and uncertainty; and out of Connor’s own sinking feeling of horror that, even after his own struggles with <em>remembering</em>, he couldn’t even see <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>What kind of person—doctor—<em>brother</em>—does that make him?</p>
<p>Tommy’s broken, “I don’t think I’m okay about this, Connie,” only stresses how crucial it is for Connor to figure it out.</p>
<p>
  <strong> - World Beard Day -</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>October 18<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>12:47 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>please tell me you’re not participating this year</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>12:49 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>???</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>12:50 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>I was going to be nice and leave it solely for you, Mr. Baby Face</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>12:50 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>But isn’t this /exactly/ what you’re always pestering me to do?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>12:51 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>yeah well it’s poor timing</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>12:52 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>i have very specific Halloween plans</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>12:52 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>and they hinge on you in all your bearded glory</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>12:54 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>12:54 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>Dammit Tommy</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Tommy</p>
<p>
  <em>12:55 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>I’m a doctor, not your Mirror Universe counterpart</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>12:58 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>rude</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To: Connie</p>
<p>
  <em>12:58 PM CST</em>
</p>
<p>i was actually thinking pre- and post-beard Riker, thank you very much.</p>
<p>
  <strong>- National No Beard Day -</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>November 20<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>For the record, the llama was Tommy’s idea.</p>
<p>Connor will, however, take credit for the thing with the duct tape and two gallons of jellybeans.</p>
<p>
  <strong>- National Absurdity Day -</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <strong>December 18<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p>
<p>“International Ninja Day could have been fun.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” Connor hums in distaste, trying to ignore how his stomach flips a bit at the suggestion as he takes a swig of water. “Not really our territory.”</p>
<p>Tommy shrugs, before shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. “Okay, that’s fair. Guess that’s why Pretend to Be a Time Traveler Day was out of the question too?”</p>
<p>That’s another one that gives Connor a sour feeling in his gut. “Something like that,” he mumbles, absently scratching Cayenne’s left ear. He must have found a good spot, as she lets out a pleased rumble and wriggles her head more comfortably into his lap.</p>
<p>Gwen lifts her head slightly at the noise, before settling her snout back on top of Tommy’s left knee, droopy eyes watching him as he rustles around in the popcorn bag. Her attentiveness is rewarded with a few pieces, which are playfully flicked into her waiting mouth.</p>
<p>“Well, I guess you just have no imagination,” Tommy sighs dramatically. The theatrics melt away, though, as a blinding, sincere smile creeps across his face, and he takes a teasing swipe at the back of Connor’s head before his arm settles on his shoulder in solidarity. “But yeah, this was definitely the best choice.”</p>
<p>The holiday was practically made for them, after all.</p>
<p>
  <strong>- National Twin Day -</strong>
</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this is all I have at the moment for <i>Old enough</i> follow-ups. There will certainly be more to come in the future (even outside that other sequel), but I don't have anything clearly planned and/or written yet.</p>
<p>Which means that, barring any sudden backtracking on the above, next time we're heading into some exploration into our alternate Merlyn Boys, in what I like to call "the (Not-So) Crisis of Infinite Tommys (and Connors)." As much as I adore the <i>Old enough</i> boys, I've also come up with some additional takes on them throughout the multiverse, and got a bit attached. So we'll take a dive into some of those, and see how the universes or timelines might change, but Tommy and Connor somehow translate between them.</p>
<p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. We come together (state of the art)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Crisis of Infinite Merlyn Boys entry: Welcome to the Distortion 'verse--an Earth on which Merlyn twins Tommy and Tate were raised together... and in the League of Assassins. </p>
<p>After spending more than half his life under the League's (and his father's) thumb and suffering a cutting betrayal, Tommy finds himself a free man, yet still so very adrift. Making his way back to Starling City and joining up with the local vigilante scene has helped steady him, but with so much danger still lurking in his past--and his mind--Tommy has yet to find any true peace.</p>
<p>And then he hears it...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was going to save this one for a few entries down the line, but seeing as I've somehow become just as committed to this particular universe as I have the main <i>Old enough</i> one, maybe this <i>is</i> the best choice with which to kick off this particular segment.</p>
<p>As noted in the previous entry (and from the summary), this collection isn't just made up of snippets within the canon of the flagship <i>Old enough</i>. While I love the Merlyn Boys as they are in that universe, I was also incredibly curious about how I could craft their brotherhood under different circumstances, in different timelines and universes. Really, there could be infinite permutations of Tommy and Connor, and I wanted to explore so many; thus, that became the second purpose of this particular sequel.</p>
<p>The universe we're visiting on this outing will be somewhat familiar, as it's the one from which Other-Tommy in <i>Old enough</i> Epilogue III ("Distortion") hails. He'd already revealed a bit about his Earth in that heartwrenching encounter with <i>Old enough</i> Connor--about how he'd had a chance to grow up with <i>his</i> brother since birth, even if the vast majority of their lives were spent in service to the League of Assassins, and how the twins were separated by betrayal. But I knew I had so much more of a story to tell in the Distortion 'verse, and sought to delve into it some more (particularly once a very special twist came to mind).</p>
<p>True to its name, the Distortion 'verse finds the twins and their circumstances warped, yet still somehow recognizable in the reflection. And while we're in this specific frame of mind, I'd just like to call out: the term is "through a glass <i>darkly</i>." While not much is explicitly laid out here, there's enough going on that you can piece things together about the history in this universe, which finds us leaning a little strongly into this fic's rating (and maybe just slightly beyond). The parts that are less implied and more overt should also clearly set the tone--this Tommy is definitely not as all right as he might seem at first.</p>
<p>Wrapping this up again with a thank you to Mari, for eagerly listening and understanding immediately when I shared the idea I had for a certain twist, and <i>considerable</i> credit/blame to Abbie, who listened to my ideas, asked so many excellent (and painful questions), and now has me sitting on a veritable universe with the Distortion Boys. <i>It was only supposed to last for this one more ficlet</i>, and now there are so very many ideas and AUs of an AU of an AU...</p>
<p>Anyways: enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tommy’s blood turns to ice the second the name slips off Felicity’s tongue amidst a rapid-fire roster of missing scientists, presumably among the hostages being herded into the atrium below.</p>
<p>By all accounts, it shouldn’t have been familiar—not <em>here</em>, at least. But after that little… <em>cosmic slip</em> a few months back, Tommy can’t help but snap to attention.</p>
<p>Thankfully, the sudden rigidity in his body goes unnoticed by his companions, as they concern themselves with a plan of attack.</p>
<p><em>“Looks like we’ve got four hostiles front and center around the hostages,”</em> Digg reports from his position on the walkway opposite.</p>
<p>“I count six more guarding the exits,” Sara supplies from Tommy’s right with a nod towards two of them. “No sign yet of an apparent ringleader… my guess is they’re wired.”</p>
<p>On cue comes the clacking Tommy has begun to associate with Felicity working her magic on the other side of the comms. <em>“Definitely picking up some additional radio signals. I’ll get a lock on their frequency.”</em></p>
<p>Comms, hostages, no-name rent-a-goons… it’s so far outside the once-familiar MO that Tommy almost convinces himself that he’s just paranoid (<em>shameful</em> behavior from a Son of the Magician). But there’s just a <em>feeling</em> burning in his chest—a little off-center, just shy of his heart—that prevents him from dropping the matter altogether.</p>
<p>The hum of a motorcycle roars over the earpiece, swerving Tommy off the path of his current thoughts.</p>
<p><em>“Wrapped things up with the robbery on the east side,” </em>Laurel says. <em>“Speedy, Arsenal, and I can assist if needed.”</em></p>
<p>“Take the perimeter,” Oliver decides after a moment, surveying both enemies and present allies. “We’ll have more use for range weapons if we have any runners or exterior guards.” At that, he turns the green hood to Tommy. “What are you carrying?”</p>
<p>Lips twitching behind his full-face mask, Tommy makes a show of patting down his uniform pockets, as if he’s forgotten which parts of his arms cache he’d dipped into when gearing up. One midnight-blue jacket pocket unzips, and Tommy palms a small pile of razor-thin (and –sharp) throwing stars.</p>
<p>“Looks like the night’s codename is ‘Shuriken,’ everyone,” he announces, assuming a light, near-playful tone. Slipping them back into the jacket, he taps one of the thigh holsters for his eskrima with his opposite hand. “Still have the sticks, and, of course, the stones to break bones, if anyone tests me.”</p>
<p>Just as intended, Oliver cracks a smile that Tommy can still see under the green mask and shadow of the other man’s hood. “We really need to workshop a more permanent alias for you. It’s not like it <em>has</em> to be relevant to your choice of weapon.”</p>
<p>Tommy cups a hand to his covered ear. “Sorry, the fabric’s a little thick. What was that, <em>Green Arrow</em>?”</p>
<p>The multiple resounding snorts of laughter over the comms make the replying fist to his shoulder worth it.</p>
<p>“I mean, I’d have gone with something more catch-all, like ‘Armory’,” Tommy drawls, rubbing his arm, “but the Red Ranger over here has already cornered the market on any synonyms thereof.”</p>
<p><em>“Hey!”</em> comes Roy’s offended shout over the growl of his own motorcycle.</p>
<p>“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, kid, and the way I see your little acrobatic stunts, I’m thinking you’re no stranger to spandex.”</p>
<p><em>“As fun as it is bringing Arsenal down a few pegs, we </em>do<em> have a hostage crisis going on,”</em> Digg interrupts, drawing their attention back to the group in the atrium. The influx of new hostages has slowed to a trickle, the last few joining the tight cluster of captive scientists seated on the floor once their hands and feet are zip-tied.</p>
<p>Oliver immediately snaps back into vigilante-mode, but with a sort of seamlessness that vehemently denies that his mind was ever off-mission. “On my count,” he barks through the modulator’s gravelly tone.</p>
<p>Glancing over, Tommy notes the coiled tension in Sara’s legs as she’s poised to spring. The faint click of a new clip sliding into a gun confirms Digg’s just as prepared.</p>
<p>Starling City’s greatest warriors, armed and ready to take action. All that’s left is the go-sign from their green-leather leader, which comes when the first arrow embeds itself in a goon’s hand, sending his gun skittering out of sight.</p>
<p>They move as a unit, leaping from their perches on the floor above and descending almost gracefully down to the atrium to greet tonight’s dance partners.</p>
<p>In the thrill of the battle, they won’t notice that their number has dwindled to three, Tommy reasons as he leans over the edge to get a glimpse at the show below. Satisfied, he pulls back and allows himself to fade into the shadows that have followed him since age eleven.</p>
<p>It’s time to see to his <em>own</em> mission.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Slipping away from the on-site members of his team may have been easy enough, but dodging Felicity Smoak is a challenge on another level. Switching off the comm would immediately raise a red flag, but leaving it on his person would run the risk of the others finding Tommy before he’s ready, or hearing something he’d rather not have revealed. As a temporary solution, it goes on top of a water cooler in one of the administrative offices he passes through on his journey.</p>
<p>It’s not like he <em>actually</em> knows what he’s doing, or where he’s going. All he has is a name and department, and gradually strengthening faith in his instincts.</p>
<p>
  <em>Dr. Connor Rhodes, Biochemistry.</em>
</p>
<p>Felicity had intercepted the list of names from building security, who’d generated it to keep track of the employees who hadn’t checked in when the evacuation alarm had sounded. There must not have been any photos associated with those names—or at least not any recognizable enough to raise a red flag—otherwise she wouldn’t have read off that entry as nothing different from the others.</p>
<p>There’s still a probability that he’s wrong, if the lack of confirmed photo ID and different career field are any evidence. But if Tommy’s learned anything in his bloodstained life, it’s that the multiverse is one of infinite cruelties.</p>
<p>The name alone might have been less of a cause for concern. But the name and title combined—there’s <em>always</em> a certain power in titles—is enough to alert Tommy that, somehow, the League of Assassins is involved in all of this.</p>
<p>More specifically, Al-… <em>no</em>, T-… <em>his brother</em> is here.</p>
<p>The realization rings out like a death knell that trails Tommy past the latest stairwell door (<em>floor 5, Experimental Technology</em>) and upwards.</p>
<p>He’d done everything he could to push all thoughts of that encounter with his brother’s alternate-Earth doppelgänger out of his head over the last six months. There was no good in dwelling when they only dredged up bad memories and taunted him with things he couldn’t have.</p>
<p>(Though couldn’t <em>that</em> Connor have said the same? Tommy at least had a living brother, and had shared a fair number of years—however dark many had been—with him before losing everything.)</p>
<p>But things had been getting better—maybe not to the extent Tommy had intended (his brother, alive, <em>free</em> alongside him), but it was still progress. Relearning how to be a <em>person</em> again is a delicate thing, one of snapping an iron bond link by link and watching the powers that ran your world fall to rust. Gone are the titles and honor codes and machinations of a cruel, broken man who’d rather reforge his children as weapons to wield than be a <em>father</em> to them, but with them goes the <em>stability</em>.</p>
<p>The sudden unsteadiness had Tommy staggering his way back to Starling City for the first time in over fifteen years, and what was shaping up to be a massive risk became the very remedy he needed.</p>
<p>Finding out the truth about Thea was an accident. Keeping her from meeting the same fate at Malcolm’s hands as the twins was a choice made without hesitation, and had saved <em>Tommy</em> just as much as he had her.</p>
<p>Coming face-to-face with Oliver Queen again, though, after so very many years and scars on both of them…</p>
<p>Well, it was just good to have someone who’d remembered the boy Tommy used to be, back when the monsters were only under the bed and not within their very souls.</p>
<p>There had been no question about joining up with Oliver’s crusade. Fighting was too ingrained in Tommy’s entire being for him to have a truly normal life, and being able to use the skills forced upon him to instead <em>protect</em> others was a saving grace.</p>
<p>(Plus, Tommy wasn’t above admitting that defending the city his father had sought to damn with his own madness served as a satisfying middle-finger to Malcolm.)</p>
<p>Most of all, allying himself with the Starling City vigilantes gave Tommy a family in more ways than one. Thea shared his blood, and Oliver was still his brother in everything but. The Lance sisters were kindred spirits, with Sara well acquainted with how the sharp claws of the League dig in, and Laurel as a promise that even from the lowest point, one can fly to new heights. Roy and his reckless dumbassery, Diggle and his refusal to let any shit moves be pulled, and Felicity with her multiple-<em>entendre</em> rambles and fierce fire made them all perfectly well-rounded, and Tommy was almost as satisfied to be a part of it.</p>
<p>
  <em>Almost.</em>
</p>
<p>The reason why his contentment falls just short lies somewhere behind the door before him.</p>
<p>Muffling the click of the latch as much as possible, Tommy slides across the threshold and just as quietly closes the door behind him as he surveys the hall. On this stretch, there’s but one entry point to this floor’s lab, which lies—door ajar—before the elevator bank.</p>
<p>Tommy doesn’t need the sensation in his chest to tell him that he’s found the right place.</p>
<p>The eskrima sticks are at last freed from their holsters, and Tommy gives them a little twirl before they settle firmly in his grip. He has no intentions of striking first, but won’t hesitate to beat the stuffing out of his brother if absolutely necessary.</p>
<p>The opportunity presents itself mere seconds after he steps into the lab, when a familiar dagger whizzes past his line of sight—a hair’s breadth from the tip of his nose—before shattering a cluster of beakers on his right.</p>
<p>Any comment about how someone with such lauded aim could miss is lost with Tommy’s breath as he takes a flying kick to the abdomen, which sends him staggering back. Refusing to topple over completely, he lets out a deep cough (<em>damn</em>, that already burns) and straightens in a split-second, eskrima coming up in a clear invitation.</p>
<p>His opponent gladly accepts, white coat snapping in the air as he returns with a barrage of strikes towards Tommy’s upper half, which are harmlessly deflected with the sticks.</p>
<p>Tommy knows when he’s being toyed with, and these direct attacks fit the mold to a T. Their form might be perfect, but their use is hardly in the League of Assassins’ regimen. With the way this is going, it’s more like Tommy is fighting with a drunken bar brawler, not a flawless Son of...</p>
<p>A foot sweeps out to catch him in the left calf—<em>right</em> where they’d had to dig out a bullet a few nights ago—and Tommy crumples with a sharp cry of pain. It abruptly dies out the second his neck hits a white-sleeved arm in his descent, before evolving into a gag as the arm curls into a chokehold and his attacker slips around behind him.</p>
<p>Dazed, Tommy can hardly fight as his mask is yanked fully off his head and the cool air of the lab hits his face. The sensation reboots his system a bit—as well as the steadily growing need for air as the grip tightens—and he strategically runs through the options he has to get free.</p>
<p>His captor’s stance directly behind him doesn’t allow much room to maneuver his head, or enough power to drive it back and into the other’s nose. The eskrima sticks lie scattered on the floor, well out of reach, and Tommy already knows that any punching or kicking will have little to no effect.</p>
<p>His vision starts to spot, but not before he notices how the sleeve on the arm holding him has started to rise up slightly from the upper forearm, giving just enough of an opening…</p>
<p>
  <em>There.</em>
</p>
<p>“G- <em>aaaaooowww</em>, did you just <em>bite</em> me?”</p>
<p>“Ah-<em>hah</em>,” Tommy hums in confirmation, lips spreading in an even bigger, smugger smile as his teeth hold firm.</p>
<p>“You’re an <em>asshole</em>,” he’s reminded, before the tension on Tommy’s neck releases and his opponent shifts back. Throat no longer constricted, Tommy takes in a gulp of air, simultaneously freeing the offending arm. Still gasping, he follows it as it snakes back to its owner’s chest, and takes a moment to give his brother a critical once-over.</p>
<p>“Next time, put some more thought into your appearance. That beard makes you look more like a lumberjack than a chemist.”</p>
<p>The identical face (save for said beard) crinkles and gives Tommy the stink-eye as he rubs his wrist. “Glad to see you haven’t changed, Al-Muqarab.”</p>
<p>Despite all the progress he’s made—the battle to reclaim whatever pieces of <em>Tommy</em> still existed—it’s still not quite enough to stop <em>the Confidant</em> from going perfectly pin-straight when addressed.</p>
<p>His twin gives him an appraising (yet hauntingly blank) look at the change, and Al-Mu- <em>Tommy </em>grinds his teeth. He’s not sure who he hates more—his brother for purposely pushing his buttons, Al-Sahir-Malcolm-<em>Dad</em> for seeing a pair of grieving children as the set-up to his greatest trick in the first place, or<em> himself</em> for still being so weak and unable to break the hold that name has over him.</p>
<p>That doesn’t mean he’s content to let it maintain that power.</p>
<p>“See, I can’t really say the same about you,” Tommy starts, slowly feeling his muscles loosen and joints unlock as his words bring him back to himself. “Not all that happy to see you, and you <em>have</em> changed, if the new name and PhD are any proof.” He nods to the security badge dangling from the lab coat’s breast pocket.</p>
<p>His brother’s sour expression deepens as he crosses his arms. “Are you really that disconnected from your training that you’ve forgotten what an <em>alias</em> is?”</p>
<p>“Nope!” Tommy replies, aiming for the most aggravatingly cheerful tone he can muster as he tucks his hands into his jacket pockets and calmly begins to circle his twin. “Still very much understand the concept of undercover identities. I was just, you know, hoping.”</p>
<p>“Hoping?” Now they’re mirroring each other, slinking about the lab floor like two caged predators.</p>
<p>“Yeah, hoping that that was an official name change. ‘Connor Rhodes’ has a great ring to it—‘Connie’ even more so.” Tommy shrugs, coming to a halt. “That, and I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to beat your ass for the situation downstairs.”</p>
<p>His brother stops as well, shoulders twitching once in a laugh as he looks down and scuffs his shoe. “You know, that would be slightly more of a threat if I didn’t just see the state of your fighting skills a minute ago. But even then, it’d be unnecessary,” He glances up at Tommy. “Believe me, my work is completely unrelated to whatever hostage crisis is going on.”</p>
<p>Tommy narrows his eyes. It hasn’t been long enough for him to have forgotten his twin’s tics and tells, or simply the <em>feel</em> of his lies—none of which are registering with his words. This is truly just a collision of missions.</p>
<p>That still doesn’t bode well.</p>
<p>“You could have been <em>out</em>,” he snaps, pivoting sharply on his heel and taking a warning step forward.</p>
<p>His brother just blinks impassively back, undaunted. “I could have,” he admits slowly, “if I <em>wanted</em> to.”</p>
<p>The words almost make Tommy reel back in disbelief.</p>
<p>“You’re lying.”</p>
<p>That just earns him a small, almost pitying smile. “I must have played along too well, if I managed to convince <em>you</em> that I was willing to leave.”</p>
<p>Tommy shakes his head and takes another step closer, hope rising in his chest. “I’m not buying it. You were just as desperate to get away as I was—you <em>jumped</em> at the chance when I told you I figured it out. That’s not something you fake from the start.”</p>
<p>“I guess I’m a better liar than we both thought,” his brother replies coolly, making a smooth, barely noticeable side-step upon Tommy’s approach.</p>
<p>And <em>oh</em>, isn’t that… <em>peculiar</em>.</p>
<p>Unconsciously—a <em>dangerous</em>, repercussive misstep—Tommy feels his lips part and the corners draw ever so slowly upwards, a well-worn hilt grasped to unsheathe a wicked-sharp grin. Such a familiar, prized item in his armory, yet one he now keeps securely locked away in the darkest depths of himself.</p>
<p>There are some weapons that just can’t be controlled by even the most experienced wielders. But the remembrance of that warning comes too late to be acted upon, and his grip <em>slips</em>.</p>
<p>“No, you’re really, <em>really</em> not,” Al-Muqarab refutes, and this time he doesn’t step so much as <em>stalk </em>towards his brother, a born hunter who’s caught the scent of vulnerability. His upper lip curls even further as to bare his teeth in gloating triumph. “See, you’ve always had this problem with your breath control—you get this <em>itty bitty</em> hitch in your voice when you have to tell the real whoppers.”</p>
<p>There’s a cruel sort of glee to seeing his brother—Al-Jirah, <em>the Surgeon</em>—smother a flinch at his proximity, even as some little voice in the back of the Confidant’s mind screams that this is <em>wrong wrong</em> <em>wrong</em>. But it’s so easy to brush off, a tiny gnat abuzz over nothing.</p>
<p>“Now, it’s not really a noticeable thing,” he continues, voice drawling as he sidles up right alongside his brother. And there it is—the clench of the Surgeon’s jaw, the first overt sign of tension, an admission of disquiet at the Confidant’s presence. Something that can so easily be nurtured into <em>fear</em>, he notes, as he leans to the other’s ear and hisses, “But I’m <em>me</em>. And let me tell you, I’ve been hearing it with <em>everything you just said</em>.”</p>
<p>Al-Jirah, it seems, refuses to counter that with a retort of his own, instead targeting a cold, scalpel-sharp glare to meet Al-Muqarab’s curious gaze. He’s always been the twin of so few words, after all, choosing instead to let his handiwork—and the recipients of it—do all the talking.</p>
<p>But still, the Confidant is even better at prying out the answers he wants, and this is hardly a challenge.</p>
<p>“Come on,” he whines, needling into his brother’s proclivity for annoyance. “You and I are in such a prime position to help each other—like old times, remember? Say, you tell me the <em>truth</em>, and I let you go without question, mmkay?”</p>
<p>That was a rare miscalculation, apparently, as the Surgeon surges forth with a murderous glare. “The fact that you’re more than willing to <em>let me go</em> is exactly why I’m not telling you <em>anything</em>.”</p>
<p>“Touchy, <em>touchy</em>,” the Confidant singsongs, hands raised slightly in mock surrender. “Also, hi, <em>pot</em>. Let’s talk about who let whom go first.” He tilts his head, reminiscent of a nudge. “Hint: <em>I</em>, the kettle, was the ‘whom’.”</p>
<p>“<em>Don’t</em>.” It’s meant to be taken as a demand, clipped and harsh, but it always comes back to that breath control. Hard to sound commanding when a single sharp inhale reveals the plea tucked underneath.</p>
<p>What a <em>perfect</em>, fatal chink in the armor.</p>
<p>“Oh, having second thoughts, are we—<em>regrets</em>, even?” Now all pretense of playing games has been stripped away, and Al-Muqarab is poised for attack. “What, can’t handle being a one-twin band? Or are you <em>jealous</em> that you’re not the one who slipped the collar? Newsflash: running to Ra’s al Ghul with your leash between your teeth isn’t the way, but you’ve learned that lesson, haven’t you?”</p>
<p>He sees the punch coming, but takes it, reveling in the warm rivulet of blood that trickles down from his nose. It’s physical evidence that <em>he</em>, Al-Muqarab, the Confidant, cracked the impenetrable ice that’s long encased the Surgeon and uncovered a font of lava underneath. After so many years of training to see each other as paired weapons first, rivals second, and brothers much lower down the list, there’s still no other thrill like it.</p>
<p>It’s why he can’t help but let out a hearty, barbed laugh as the Surgeon lunges and throws the two of them down. The sound doesn’t break even as the Confidant’s back lands hard against the floor, nor when a knee drops in the dead center of his chest and a vicious blade readies a muscle-twitch away from his carotid artery.</p>
<p>“You never got it, did you?” Al-Jirah asks, voice dangerously low. “We never had a choice in becoming monsters, not when the only alternative to our creation was death. But the <em>reason</em> for being, that’s not something Malcolm or the League can completely code into us, much as they might try.”</p>
<p>Al-Muqarab curls his lip in disgust. He owes his existence to said manipulation, and his purpose has always been made clear by those pulling the strings. The insinuation that there’s anything more to it makes the <em>Tommy</em> part of himself—currently tucked snugly away, <em>protected</em>—recoil, so afraid that he inherently <em>is</em> what he was molded and brainwashed to be.</p>
<p>(The Confidant sees no point in this distinction, a last grasp at absolution. No matter the name, the hands that playfully high-five Oliver Queen’s are the same as the ones that shook a diplomat’s and simultaneously drove a knife into his abdomen.)</p>
<p>Yet the Surgeon ignores the reaction, and presses on. “We always knew that I was Dad’s favorite—such a good little soldier, and with the same viciousness to boot. But you? So much like <em>Mom</em>, so big-hearted and good with people and not a single hard edge to be found. And I <em>knew</em>, out of the two of us…” he leans in, teeth gritted in a snarl “…you weren’t going to survive.”</p>
<p>Something curdles in the Confidant’s stomach at that. It’s less about the insult, the unearthing of past weakness—while that smarts, it doesn’t give reason to the dread of piecing together where this is going.</p>
<p>“I did everything in my power to be that perfect son, that <em>weapon</em> they wanted us both to be—learned to be efficient yet cruel, fierce yet subdued, and hoped it would be enough to detract attention from you.” The Surgeon pauses, taking a moment to allow a sad smile to slip onto his face. “But even my best couldn’t manage that, could it?”</p>
<p>The fight goes out of the Confidant like a balloon crushed between hands, and Tommy—<em>brotherfriendwannabeheroex-assassintwinFREE</em>—resurfaces from the choking dark of his own worst weapon. Mindful of the knife still at his throat (but noticeably held less threateningly), he moves his head slightly from side-to-side, just enough to hopefully convey everything that needs saying.</p>
<p>From the look in his brother’s eyes, he’s received the message, but it’s easily overcome by the soft gaze of a damned man at peace—there are still words left to speak.</p>
<p>“When… when you came to me, having found your way out and fully intending to take it, <em>god</em>, I wanted nothing more than to follow you. I was <em>going to</em>,” he admits with such vehemence, as if disproving his earlier lies will somehow soften the blow. But then comes the hitch of breath again, this time signaling a barely suppressed sob. “Except I knew that if the League lost <em>both</em> of us to the wind in one fell swoop, we’d never be anything in the vicinity of safe ever again—our lives would still always be chained to them, just with a little bit more give as we tried to run and hide. But I figured…”</p>
<p>“<em>No</em>,” Tommy finally finds his voice, but the word comes out hardly above a whisper. He doesn’t want to hear the words he knows in his heart are true spoken aloud; doesn’t want to hear the choice made without his knowledge and for his own good, the sacrifice he didn’t even <em>deserve</em> to have had made in his name.</p>
<p>For once, his brother complies, but not before the rest of his logic fills in and echoes in both twins’ heads.</p>
<p><em>The League might not let </em>both<em> Sons of the Magician go quietly, but if they still had</em> one…</p>
<p>Swift and soundless as it first appeared, the blade slips away from Tommy’s throat, and his brother eases himself up to stand.</p>
<p>Or, at least, he makes to do so, before Tommy’s hand catches his wrist with the grip of a corpse in rigor.</p>
<p>“I’m not doing this again, I’m not letting you let go,” he says, words coming out quick and desperate against the knot in his throat. “I don’t want to… <em>Tate</em>, please don’t make me have to stop you.”</p>
<p>But it’s hopeless. Both of them know that if Tommy—the only one who can stop this separation of the twins—fails in doing so now, then he and the rest of Team Arrow will have to bring down the Surgeon and the League at a later date.</p>
<p>There’s a moment’s hesitation in his brother’s—his twin’s, <em>Tate’s</em>—eyes, just enough to spark hope in…</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he says instead, and Tommy feels the pinprick of a syringe in his neck before he has a chance to react.</p>
<p>The world goes gray as his veins fill with a cold frost, and the last sensation Tommy feels before his body locks up against his will is his brother’s arm slipping out of his grasp.</p>
<p>“It’s a minor paralytic,” the Surgeon—because that’s who Tommy’s facing now, even as he can see the clear shine in the other’s eyes—reports almost clinically. “Nothing too toxic, and it should wear off on its own in a few hours,” he glances over his shoulder, as if he’s sensed something, “maybe less depending on your friends. Either way, it’s enough for my purposes.”</p>
<p>His footfalls against the floor as he goes to retrieve something indistinguishable from one of the lab counters are almost deafening to Tommy’s ears, yet they can’t drown out the anguished cries in his heart over losing his twin <em>yet again</em>, and maybe for good this time.</p>
<p>But somehow, the Surgeon must sense that agony—as children, they did always like to joke that there was some level of psychic connection between the two of them—and turns just enough for Tommy to glimpse his profile.</p>
<p>“I know you may rightfully hate me, but the things I‘ve seen… I know what it would be like if you died. I would much rather take a world where you live to be my enemy than one where all that’s left of you is a cold grave.”</p>
<p>It’s only later, after a familiar clump of herbs has been jammed in his mouth and sensation returns enough for Tommy to buck in Oliver’s restraining arms with a scream, that he realizes the implications of his brother’s final words before vanishing back to the League.</p>
<p>The multiverse truly <em>is</em> one of infinite cruelties.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So yeah... <i>definitely</i> more to come at some point with this universe.</p>
<p>When I wrote the original "Distortion" encounter for the <i>Old enough</i> epilogues, I had every intention to keep Tate/Other-Connor as loyal to and entrenched in the League as originally implied. But in giving this universe more thought and running through an initial variation of the twins' encounter, I suddenly realized: I could pull a Bryce Larkin. <i>Chuck</i> is one of my old fandoms, still close to my heart, and Bryce Larkin was a fascinating (yet overall minor) character to me--he oftentimes comes off as a jerk in the present of the show, but things unravel throughout his story to reveal that a past betrayal was actually a means of keeping the betrayed (Chuck) safe, and the personal sacrifice that was made because of it. So having Tate supposedly turn on his brother, staying with the League to protect Tommy as he runs, turned into the perfect heartwrenching opportunity.</p>
<p>Tommy and the impact of his League past, on the other hand, is something that developed later, through conversations with Abbie. I'd already given him his League name of "the Confidant," and Abbie started to delve into the implications of it, and apparently that just tapped into my oft-forgotten love of dark twists on beloved characters and I <i>got dark</i>. Distortion Tommy just wants to be <i>himself</i>, and in his mind, that's only inclusive of who he is now. He doesn't like to think of the Confidant--a side of him forged like lethal armor, made for battle but also to protect the more vulnerable part of Tommy who didn't <i>want</i> any of this--as <i>himself</i>, not when this was who he was forced and manipulated to be under the League and Malcolm's hands. But it's such a familiar defense that he <i>slips</i>, sometimes.</p>
<p>While that's it for now, there's plenty of material that's sure to come in the future. We won't get into that quite yet, though, as our next entry will most likely be a glimpse into the lives of another Earth's pair of Merlyn Boys.</p>
<p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. In Tune</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Crisis of Infinite Merlyn Boys entry: next (uni)verse, same as the first. A pair of Merlyn twins and a Rhodes child are born at Starling City General Hospital. Their number dwindles to two, and one twin ends up with the wrong family, taken back with them to Chicago. </p>
<p>It’s a familiar tune, a leitmotif carried across the multiverse. But then comes a key change, and the notes that follow construct a truly unique song. </p>
<p>The Merlyn twins of this Earth are something <i>more</i>, and not even physical separation can sever a bond between brothers.</p>
<p>[AKA: the one in which Tommy and Connor grow up separately, but with a psychic link keeping them connected. Welcome to the Satellite Call 'verse.]</p>
<p>Prompt from Abbie: "You were put on this earth to give me a headache."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I had at least two other Merlyn Boys AUs in progress that I was looking to complete for this next entry, but work stalled on both of them, and I have been wading my way through a collection of Tumblr fic prompts. This one (and its soon-to-be-immediate follower) are from an AU that I'm still developing, but to which I have already become very attached. I definitely intend to have a longer piece for it, but seeing as there are already so many scenes I'd need to cover in it that I wouldn't be able to slot these current pieces in easily, I'm releasing them here as a bit of a teaser. </p>
<p>The Satellite Call 'verse (tentative name) is probably the closest relative so far to the Old enough 'verse, with the two biggest changes being that Tommy and Connor have known about each other for <i>much</i> longer than their <i>Old enough</i> counterparts, and we're dipping a toe into some more supernatural elements. Let's just say I got inspired by the Undertaking timestamp from <i>Old enough</i> (in all its soul-shredding glory), and specifically decided to play a little with the idea of a telepathic link between the twins. I can assure you, though, that the examples of it here are much less heartbreaking and traumatic than what <i> Old enough</i> Connor experienced.</p>
<p>(Also, I just had a lot of fun writing teenage Tommy and the twins' brotherhood under these particular circumstances.)</p>
<p>And so: enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>
      <em>April 2001</em>
    </strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>
  <em>You were put on this earth to give me a headache.</em>
</p>
<p>“Oh, come on, that’s a little harsh,” Tommy whines around a foaming mouthful of toothpaste. He doesn’t actually need to say it out loud, but it’s always more of a comfort to do so. Plus, he gets the added value of vexing his brother, especially when a giant glob of toothpaste slips from the corner of his mouth and plops onto the bathroom counter.</p>
<p>Sure enough, there comes a disgusted, almost pained groan. It subsides a moment later, though, and Connor continues. <em>No, no, that’s putting it mildly. At least I can treat the headache. But the detention you earned me today? That’s a crime I can’t overlook.</em></p>
<p>Tommy lets out an offended gasp, before spitting into the sink. “And how, exactly, was that <em>my</em> fault?”</p>
<p>He can feel his brother’s glower as if it’s physically landed on him. <em>You know.</em></p>
<p>“No, really, clue me in here. Loath as I am to admit it, I’ll accept that I’m responsible in some respect, but I’d like to know the charges.”</p>
<p>The ready acknowledgement of Tommy’s guilt must surprise Connor, as his thoughts stumble to a stop. The silence lasts but a few seconds, though, and he admits, <em>I got busted for humming during my Chem test today. To one of the songs </em>you <em>got stuck in my head. </em></p>
<p>An accusation not all that unexpected, but the way the irritation just barely conceals a layer of mortification has Tommy cackling (and almost choking on the water he’s gargling).</p>
<p>“Oh, people didn’t love the song stylings of Connie Rhodes?” he goads, dabbing at his face with a towel once he’s rinsed his mouth. “What was it this time—‘Livin’ la Vida Loca’? ‘Landslide’?” He trails off, lifting his head with unadulterated glee. “‘My Heart Will Go On’?”</p>
<p><em>Stop</em>, Connor warns in a manner he would absolutely deny as a whine. Even still, it’s not enough to stopper a familiar flute tune from lilting out of Connor’s mind and into Tommy’s.</p>
<p>Tommy’s chest almost bursts from laughter. “I’ll bet that was a… <em>titanic</em> surprise for everyone in the room—near, far, and wherever they were in relation to you.”</p>
<p><em>You’re truly awful</em>, his brother groans, and Tommy gets the impression of Connor burying his face in his hands at that. <em>We have this connection like no one else does, and the best thing you can think of doing with it is annoying me with earworms?</em></p>
<p>That gives Tommy pause, if only for a moment. This mental link between them—unusual and inexplicable as it is—was the very reason they even discovered the other’s existence as young children, and it keeps the twins close even with the miles between Starling City and Chicago (and the fact that they’ve never even physically <em>met</em>, yet). It does seem as if it should be treated with a bit more respect and care.</p>
<p>The practicality of it, though, far outweighs the call for reverence.</p>
<p>“Hey, how else am I supposed to get in all of my older-brotherly teasing?” Tommy asks with a wry grin, popping his toothbrush back into its travel tube and into the bag with his other toiletries. “Because if you prefer, I could save it <em>alllllll</em> up…”</p>
<p><em>Please don’t</em>, Connor immediately cuts in. It’s both a warning and a plea, Tommy can tell—his twin might actually miss the regular doses of Tommy getting on his nerves should they come to a halt.</p>
<p>Connor’s not pleased to let things end on that vulnerable note, though, and he scrambles to add, <em>The way you constantly pester me is </em>younger<em> sibling behavior, you know.</em></p>
<p>“Just because you keep telling yourself that doesn’t make it true, little brother,” Tommy laughs, hand twisting the doorknob and popping the door open to exit the bathroom. His feet stumble slightly, though, when he finds Oliver on the other side, pajama-clad and wearing a slightly puzzled look.</p>
<p>“Hey, was just going to tell you that I got the movie all set up,” Oliver says, pointing a thumb in the direction of his room. His arm drops slowly as his eyebrows knit under his shaggy sandy-blonde hair. “Were you, uh…” Not sure of how to phrase it, he taps his temple. “Brain twin thing again?”</p>
<p><em>I still can’t believe you told him</em>, Connor grumbles, despite the fact that it’s been years (and slightly fewer since Oliver was actually convinced). Maybe it’s because any relation between them is heavily one-sided and filtered entirely through Tommy, but Connor harbors no fondness for Tommy’s best friend. </p>
<p>Tommy gives his brother a mental shove, before responding to Oliver’s question with a blinding grin. “Connie says hi.”</p>
<p>
  <em>You asshole.</em>
</p>
<p>That makes Oliver start, unsure of how to take that and reply. “Oh, well,” he stammers, lifting a hand in an uncertain wave. “Hey?”</p>
<p><em>And I’m disconnecting for the night, </em>Connor declares with an exasperated sigh. <em>Being trapped in a classroom against my will</em> after<em> school hours has drained me.</em></p>
<p>“Aw, you didn’t even want to stick around for one movie?” Tommy asks, holding up a hand to Oliver as he puts all his effort into luring Connor’s attention back.</p>
<p>There’s a brief silence, and then: <em>What’s the genre?</em></p>
<p>“We agreed on action movie marathon.” Tommy looks to Oliver for confirmation, and he nods back.</p>
<p>Connor’s decision comes across clear and definitive even before he puts it into words. <em>Alright, </em>one<em>. But it better be good.</em></p>
<p>(They make it three-quarters of the way through before both twins have passed out.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As mentioned before, I have one more excerpt from this universe already written, which will be dropped in here soon. <i>Definitely</i> more to come, whether it's first more of these ficlets, or a multi-time period and more fluid longer fic.</p>
<p>Honestly, Tommy is such a <i>delight</i> to write as a teenager. He's just a fountain of sass, but has this gooey fondness for how much he loves having a secret brain twin and cares about Connor. Tommy will be the POV character for this entire universe, as far as I have planned (and for a reason), so there will be plenty more of this type of content to come.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Lightbulbs</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Crisis of Infinite Merlyn Boys entry: another peek into the Satellite Call 'verse. Tommy is not-so-pleasantly woken from a blissful sleep by his very frustrated brother. What transpires next changes the course of things for the twins forever.</p>
<p>Prompt from Anonymous: "I can tell you're upset. Do you need anything right now?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Second post of the day: here's the other ficlet I already have pulled together for the Satellite Call 'verse. More teenage Tommy and Connor brotherly banter! ...Which then ended up steering me into a definitive different direction than I already had planned for an upcoming important plot point. Honestly, these two are lucky they're so endearing and can get away with that. </p>
<p>Not much else to say up here, so onward we go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>June 2003 </strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>After a good eighteen years of living with more than one set of emotions rattling around his head at a given time, Tommy likes to think he’s become a pretty perceptive guy.</p>
<p>Although, there’s also a very distinctive difference between being perceptive enough to pick up on small cues and read the room (which… yeah, still not his forte), and being jolted out of a deep, deep sleep to the emotional equivalent of screamo metal battering his brain.</p>
<p>(Actually, if he focuses hard enough, he can make out the indistinguishable throat-shredding vocals and pounding bass of the real thing under the onslaught of negative feelings.)</p>
<p>“Dammit, Connie,” he whines into his pillow, cracking one eye open to peek at the clock on the nightstand (3:42 AM, <em>seriously</em>?). He allows himself one last groan over the misfortune of being yanked so carelessly awake before his good big brother instincts kick in.</p>
<p>Whatever’s got his brother in such a fit isn’t something that can wait until a more reasonable hour.</p>
<p>“I can tell you’re upset,” Tommy says, rolling onto his back and staring up into the black at the ceiling. Upon sensing the slight volume shift down that confirms he’s caught Connor’s attention, he continues almost gently, “Do you need anything right now?”</p>
<p>(Wait, that’s a little too touchy-feely. This cannot stand.)</p>
<p>“Because, you know,<em> I</em> could really use some Aspirin and a return to that fantasy land I was enjoying before you so rudely disrupted my beauty rest. Really, Connie, emo hour is from 9-10 PM Monday through Friday, with drink specials on Wednesdays. I can’t have you just flagrantly ignoring that.”</p>
<p>(Nailed it.)</p>
<p>Sure enough, that dials things back even more and sends a chord of irritation reverberating down the connection. <em>So glad to hear you care</em>, Connor snipes back, but there’s an undercurrent of fondness that alerts Tommy that his façade has been found out, and the sincerity is appreciated.</p>
<p>“I care about getting a good night’s sleep,” Tommy points out, even as he abandons that goal in shifting into a seated position against his headboard and flipping on the lamp beside his bed. “Which, uh, considering it’s not even 6 on Chicago time, it seems neither of us have achieved today.”</p>
<p>That sends a hush over their mental link, blanketing the discordance of Connor’s thoughts. <em>D—</em> Cornelius <em>tried to talk me out of pre-med again. He’s eased up a bit on trying to get me to stay closer to Chicago or swap to one of</em> his<em> choice universities, but he’s still after me on switching to a business track.</em></p>
<p>Tommy bites his tongue and does his best to surreptitiously wall off his own thoughts so none of them filter over to his brother. <em>Oh</em>, does he understand that. Except where Connor’s had the balls to fight back on being shoved into a stuffy suit-and-tie and big office combo against his will, Tommy’s just rolled over and gone where Malcolm has pointed him. The fact that it’s also where Oliver’s headed is the only saving grace to his acquiescence.</p>
<p>It’s not that he’s envious, or even resentful of his twin—Tommy would actually have to have feelings stronger than a watered-down beer about going into business over anything else. If anything, he’s… he’s <em>proud</em>.</p>
<p>Proud that Connor has such a passion; proud that he’s willing to fight tooth-and-claw to pursue it, damning any efforts to stop him and drop him into a cage of other’s expectations; proud that the future is bound to have one hell of a doctor on its hands.</p>
<p>Proud that at least one of the twins will be able to make something of himself, and honor Rebecca Merlyn for it.</p>
<p>With all of that tucked safely away, Tommy turns his attention back to Connor’s predicament, and wrinkles his nose for effect. “He sprung this all on you again at the ass-crack of dawn? That’s seriously a dick move.”</p>
<p><em>Well, no,</em> Connor hedges. <em>It was last night, actually. But I went to bed angry, and then I woke up </em>still <em>angry, and there was no falling back asleep after that. So I just…</em></p>
<p>“You put on some headphones and blasted even angrier music and let your rage run free, conveniently forgetting that someone else is on the other end of this little tin-can telephone?” Tommy deadpans.</p>
<p>A pause, then genuine regret filters down the line. <em>Sorry.</em></p>
<p>Tommy sighs, scrubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “It’s cool. I’d like to opt out of any repeat performances, though.”</p>
<p>The groan Connor lets out at that has Tommy almost expecting to find his brother astral-projected into his room. <em>I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next two months. </em></p>
<p>Tommy winces in sympathy (and also at the prospect of many more rude awakenings in his future). “Wish you could get out sooner, man,” he says solemnly.</p>
<p>And isn’t <em>that</em> a flip compared to Tommy’s relationship with Malcolm. Neither father-son relationship is going to get a gold star, but Connor’s problem has always been with Cornelius trying to get him to <em>stay</em>, while Malcolm is rarely ever around to…</p>
<p>(Did the nightstand lamp suddenly get brighter?)</p>
<p>“Holy shit,” Tommy breathes as it finally hits him. “Connie. <em>Connor</em>. You can come stay <em>here</em> for the summer.”</p>
<p>The dead silence in his head would fill him with dread in any other circumstances, but all it does now is make Tommy’s heart swoop at the thrill.</p>
<p><em>Holy</em> shit, Connor echoes, mental voice rising with newfound excitement and<em> hope</em>. <em>You’re serious?</em></p>
<p>“Dead,” Tommy confirms, scrambling to kick the covers off and throw himself out of bed to get to his desk. He makes a beeline for the calendar pinned to the wall, flipping between this month and future ones to account for the scattered notes scribbled within the boxes. “Dad’s off on another business trip starting this Friday. And he never says how long he’s going to be gone, but based on past track records, I don’t expect he’ll come slinking back until just before Labor Day.” He pulls back, dropping his hand as an incredulous laugh gasps up from his throat. “We… we can make this<em> happen</em>. We’re eighteen, there are so many things we have the power to do <em>ourselves</em> now.”</p>
<p><em>I’m already disappointing Cornelius with my college plans, </em>Connor says, and Tommy can just <em>feel</em> the blinding, wicked grin crossing his twin’s face. <em>Might as well get a head-start on that inevitable estrangement.  </em></p>
<p>Seriously. Tommy is <em>so proud</em> of his brother. And he’s sure he’s going to be <em>even prouder</em> when he actually gets to meet him in person.</p>
<p>(And isn’t <em>that</em> a thing? He’s actually going to m<em>eet his brother</em>, and put an identical—but surely so unique—face to the voice that’s lived in his mind since before either of them were able to distinguish <em>Tommy </em>from <em>Connor</em> and vice-versa.)</p>
<p>“We’re doing this,” Tommy declares, and in the too-early still of the morning, he feels the words lock in place. It feels like a promise.</p>
<p>(It feels like a <em>homecoming</em>.)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, here's how the latter half of this snippet came about:</p>
<p>Me: Just need a little bit more brotherly goofiness and fondness, then we'll call it. They're going to meet in person at some point soon after this, but it's not really going to be a planned thing. They run into each other on accident somewhere, probably. </p>
<p>Teenage Tommy and Connor, exchanging a mental conspiratorial grin before pounding their fists on the table and chanting: Summer of Twins SUMMER OF TWINS</p>
<p>Yeah, so the Merlyn Boys decided for me how they're <i>really</i> going to meet in person, which means that somewhere down the line, we're going to get that happy (and surely chaotic) reunion and a summer full of classic Tommy and Connor shenanigans, this time fueled by teenage idiocy.</p>
<p>I'm not entirely sure what'll be coming next: I have some Old enough Boys prompts coming soon on Tumblr that'll be dropped in here once completed, but I still have a few more Crisis AUs in progress too. We'll see which comes first, but based on my current track record, I'm putting money on the Old enough ficlets.</p>
<p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. And this time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Crisis of Infinite Merlyn Boys entry, but of a different sort: let's take a step back to January 2013. The Hood is back in business, working off of the List. Behind the scenes, work towards the Undertaking is ramping up.</p>
<p>And Connor Rhodes has just moved to Starling City for the foreseeable future. </p>
<p>A new player with his own unwavering agenda could swing the fate of so many in a very different direction. </p>
<p>Prompt from Anonymous: "You can stop pretending to be tough now. It's just me."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, probably a good thing I didn't <i>actually</i> make a bet against myself on whether or not I'd have more <i>Old enough</i> bits or do another Crisis entry. I tried, but this one snatched me and ran off and I couldn't stop it. Next time, though. It'll be highly likely that the next few are <i>Old enough</i> pieces.</p>
<p>But today, we have a new AU on our hands; unlike our previous entries, though, which took place on different Earths, we're considering this one an alternate timeline. The <i>Old enough</i> universe is the base Earth, but events have spiraled out in a different way, and we'll see how that impacts things.</p>
<p>I'm going to leave it at that now, so enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You can stop pretending to be tough now. It’s just me.”</p>
<p>Connor fights the <em>And that’s</em> why <em>I need to be tough </em>that instinctively wants to rise up and instead blows out an exaggerated breath, unfolding his arms from what was apparently a very “tough-guy” stance.</p>
<p>Given the meeting out of which he’d just walked (and then had to wait an additional ten minutes for Tommy to get free from), it would make sense.</p>
<p>“Well, that went… <em>swimmingly</em>,” he quips, but seeing as he’s not the twin who’s so blessed in that department, the comment takes off like a limply-thrown paper plane that dips into an immediate nosedive.</p>
<p>Tommy claps a supportive hand on his back before reaching over to smack the Down arrow. “I think it went as well as it could have gone, given the circumstances,” he counters. “I mean, we figured it wasn’t going to be a warm welcome, because it’s <em>Dad</em>, but we’ve ensured that Mom’s clinic is going to stay in family hands.”</p>
<p>Connor manages to crack a smile at that—it <em>was</em> a pretty big win, and Malcolm’s face upon finding out that Tommy was not only refusing to sign off on his portion of the clinic, but had unearthed his presumed-dead-at-birth twin brother to outvote their father on the sale made for satisfying icing on the cake.</p>
<p>There are going to be many more challenges to come—crucial, life-altering ones—but at the very least, Connor can give his brother <em>this</em>.</p>
<p>Tommy fully understands what an incredible gift it is, as his expression goes from calmly pleased to igniting with the brightest, face-splitting grin imaginable. “Thank you,” he finally says, turning to clutch at Connor’s shoulders with both hands before pulling him in for an appreciative hug. “You know, I didn’t want to drag you into all of this…”</p>
<p>Connor shakes his head, tightening his hold on his brother in reassurance. “I offered to help. It was the very least I could do.”</p>
<p>Tommy pulls back a bit, joy starting to bleed out of his face as something <em>else</em> settles in. “Still…”</p>
<p>The elevator doors clank open without fanfare, bringing the hug to an end in order to board. Connor steps in first, slapping the Lobby button before settling in the back-right corner; while Tommy lags behind, his movements lead-heavy as if his body’s reacting to a realization that’s slowly coming to him.</p>
<p>By the time the doors have closed, it’s clear he’s reached it, and the celebratory times get yanked under by reality.</p>
<p>“We just told Dad,” Tommy says, voice pitching high in panic at the end as the weight of that revelation starts to sink in. “We just told <em>Dad</em>, and we told him in regards to an actual business matter. That means he’s going to have to go back to whatever buyer he had lined up and say, ‘Sorry, no can do, my son pulled his secret brother out of a hat and they ganged up on me, and, in an uncharacteristic move, I caved.’ There is <em>no way</em> that’s not going to get attention.”</p>
<p>“I agree.” Connor calmly folds his arms across his chest and leans against the back wall.</p>
<p>“You— you <em>agree</em>?” Tommy stammers, a loss for words as a cocktail of incredulity and irritation fizzes to the surface. “<em>That’s </em>all you have to say?”</p>
<p>That should set off alarm bells for Connor, get him to scramble to explain himself, to appease Tommy with a bit of anxiety and second-guessing. It’s what he would have done if he’d found himself in this situation years earlier, and his brother still expects to see that reaction. But this is one mask Connor is much too tired to pull up.</p>
<p>And so, he just nods.</p>
<p>Tommy lets out some sort of strangled, frustrated noise, before throwing the emergency stop switch.</p>
<p>Connor raises an eyebrow, giving his brother a<em> Look</em>.</p>
<p>Not that Tommy sees it, keeping his back turned to Connor as he runs a hand through his hair and makes as if he wants to pace. The indecision doesn’t last, though, and he turns to Connor, hand dropping limply to his side. “I just… Connie, what the <em>hell</em> is going on with you?”</p>
<p>Connor straightens at that, finally understanding what a bad move he’s made. He’d pinned too much on Tommy still being ecstatic over getting the clinic back (and, admittedly, his at-times less-than-stellar attention to detail), hoping that would be enough of a distraction to drop the matter with a shake of the head and mild annoyance. <em>This</em> is getting them into dangerous territory.</p>
<p>“First you—not that I’m mad, but <em>without</em> telling me—pack yourself up and move from Gotham to Starling,” Tommy notes, ticking it off on his finger. “Related to that, you drop your surgical residency with less than a year and a half to go, making no moves to transfer and pick it back up, and this doesn’t faze you <em>at all</em>?”</p>
<p>Connor opens his mouth and makes a hand motion with the intent of correcting his brother (quitting his residency at Gotham Memorial <em>does</em>, actually, mean something to him, and it was a difficult decision to make), but Tommy steamrolls over that attempt.</p>
<p>“And now, the grand pooh-bah of them all: after all this time of us deciding not to tell Dad or go public with ‘Surprise, it’s Twins!’ you throw it out the window, and are in no way concerned that you just nuked your anonymity?” Chest heaving, Tommy lets his shoulders drop and stares back at Connor almost helplessly. “I swear, I understand you even less than I do <em>Oliver</em>, these days.”</p>
<p>Oh, <em>that’s</em> a cutting remark, even if Tommy doesn’t fully realize it.</p>
<p>Connor sags against the wall, feeling physically backed into a corner as well as verbally. He brings a hand up to scrub the lower half of his face in thought, the short hairs of his scruff tickling his palm in a distantly familiar way. There’s no easy way out of this one, and as much as Connor is always up for a challenge, neither of the angles he’s currently entertaining seem like they’ll end well.</p>
<p>Option #1: Brush it off. Call it a delayed quarter-life crisis, a bit of soul-searching, something blasé, nothing to get all up-in-arms about. Pull a page from Queen’s book and <em>lie</em>.</p>
<p>Likely result? Tommy doesn’t take that as truth for a second. Something shatters irreparably between the twins.</p>
<p>Option #2, though…</p>
<p>Even if Tommy believes him (debatable, given the nature of the truth), Connor made a promise to himself that this was a burden he’d shoulder himself. No one else—<em>especially</em> not Tommy—should have to live with the same extent, the same <em>specifics</em>, of his knowledge.</p>
<p>The silence is closing in, though, and the longer Connor waits, the weaker Tommy’s faith and trust in him will become. It’s time to make a choice.</p>
<p>In the end, he opts for a bit of both.</p>
<p>“It— It’s kind of embarrassing, really,” Connor starts, forcing a nervous laugh up around the lump in his throat. “But I had this dream—nightmare, actually, and on New Year’s Day at that. I… don’t really remember the details, but when I woke up, it was with this really profound sense of loss.” He trails off, gulping a shaky breath in and cautiously lifting his gaze to meet Tommy’s.</p>
<p>It guts Connor all over again to see how his brother’s face plummets into a look of horrified understanding.</p>
<p>“Maybe not my finest hour, but I panicked,” Connor continues, hunching his shoulders slightly for effect. “Dropped everything, quit my residency, started looking up places in Starling. From the few scraps that lingered of that dream after I woke up, I got the impression that I had a lot of regrets—like, I never got the smug satisfaction of watching Dad’s face melt when I came walking through the door.” He allows a small smile to tug at his lips.</p>
<p>It’s infectious, as Tommy’s soon grappling with his own. “Wish I’d gotten that on camera.”</p>
<p>“You and me both,” Connor agrees, shaking his head. After a moment, he leans it back against the wall, making a point of diverting his eyes away from his brother. “But it was stuff like that. Things I could have done but didn’t, others I would never have even thought of in the moment, and still more that if given the opportunity, I would ch-…” He chokes on the word.</p>
<p>That’s tripping a little too close for comfort than these half-truths are supposed to.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Tommy misses that fumble, and his face softens at the rest of Connor’s words. “I get it, in a weirdly overreacting way,” he admits. “We’ve lost a lot of time in our lives that we should have had as brothers, and having something like <em>that</em> hit… it has to mess with your head.</p>
<p>“But Connor,” Tommy pauses, reaching out to place a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “It <em>was</em> a dream, in the end. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” He winces. “So, you<em> maybe</em> could have waited on the big move instead of derailing your career.”</p>
<p>Connor groans at that and bats Tommy’s hand away. “I’ve made worse decisions, but that still wasn’t one of my best.”</p>
<p>“Hey, don’t start talking to <em>me</em> about terrible decisions,” Tommy warns as he finally turns forward again and switches the emergency stop off. As the lights come back on and they continue their descent, he shoots a grin over his shoulder. “On the bright side, though, at least that’ll dock you a few points and you’ll only beat me by a <em>slight</em> margin to be the favorite twin in the public’s eye. Because, you know, that’s going to be a thing now.”</p>
<p>Connor makes a face at that, which just makes Tommy toss his head back and laugh, eyes squeezed shut in mirth.</p>
<p>The distraction gives Connor the opening to let his expression fall and take a moment to fully process everything that’s just transpired.</p>
<p>Revealing himself to Malcolm was a risk, but the situation called for it, and frankly, it would have had to happen sooner or later. At least now Connor officially has an in, and can start doing everything in his power to make sure their father is brought down before he even tries to do the same to the city.</p>
<p>There’s still time—months, even—before the people of the Glades are truly in danger, but from Connor’s memory, the happier days Tommy has left are dwindling down to none. Things are going to blow up with Queen in a few weeks, by his estimate, and it won’t be much longer before Tommy pushes himself away from Laurel and into their father’s clutches, and by that point…</p>
<p>Well. It’s up to Connor to make sure things never get in the <em>vicinity</em> of that point.</p>
<p>Because these are the only things that matter:</p>
<p>Connor Rhodes woke up on New Year’s 2013 in his Gotham apartment. He went to sleep in Chicago in August 2019.</p>
<p>And he is going to save his brother even if it kills him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have yet to come up with an actual name for this timeline (credit to Abbie for first getting me on the line of thinking that led to its creation), but because I was running on exhaustion brain last night, I jokingly floated the idea of something like "Take It Back Now Y'all." I may very well end up running with this (and the title for this entry was already intended to fit the theme), which means that we may very well end up with a time travel story named entirely after instructions from the Cha-Cha Slide.</p>
<p>(Considering <i>Old enough</i> spawned from a Jonas Brothers lyric... don't put it past me.)</p>
<p>This is another one I'm aiming to develop a bit more, though from my current plan for it, it's going to be a little bit lighter on the brotherly interactions and more about the populace of the season 1 Arrowverse dealing with Connor, who's even more closed-off than normal and scarily driven to save his brother. And we'll just have to see how all of that turns out for him...</p>
<p>But those are stories for another time. As mentioned, it's my goal to get a few more <i>Old enough</i> pieces up next, from prompts I've built up.</p>
<p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Unamusement Park</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Throwback to the good old days in the <i>Old enough</i> 'verse! The twins decide to take an amusement park vacation. One of them is decidedly not amused by the other's choice for the next attraction. </p><p>(Hint: it's Connor.)</p><p>Prompt from just-a-girl-wholovesfanfiction: "If I die, I'm going to haunt your ass."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AHA!!! It was going to be a close one, but I <i>actually</i> managed to fulfill my promise from last time and put up an <i>Old enough</i> chapter! </p><p>This was a delightful one whose idea came to me almost right away (which was good, because with a prompt like this one, we were running a high risk of me turning it angsty, or at least filling it with so much cruel irony), and fits right in with the type of wackiness these two can get up to. Much like the first two ficlets in this collection, we're going allllll the way back to even before the Undertaking, to lighter, <i>happier</i> times. </p><p>Going to add <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SlingShot_(Cedar_Fair)">this</a> for context on this snapshot. I've never personally experienced this, but I've watched people on it from afar multiple times.</p><p>Bit of a shorter one, so onward we go!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>July 2011</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“If I die, I’m going to haunt your ass.”</p><p>“Mmhmm,” Tommy hums absently, eyes not leaving the map in his hands.</p><p>“I’m serious, you will never again know a single moment of peace, <em>Thomas</em>. I will be the pettiest ghost imaginable.”</p><p>“Yup.” Now the map is barely an inch from Tommy’s nose, and his head is cocked to the left as if scrutinizing the details.</p><p>“I’m talking broken dishes, scratches on the walls, spooky wailing noises at all hours of the night…”</p><p>“I think your neighbor has a cat like that,” Tommy interrupts, before leaning in and pointing to one of the brightly colored illustrations on the page. “There it is—number 49. Told you the bumper cars were around here somewhere.”</p><p>Connor lets out a high-pitched, startled laugh, brought on by both terror and the overwhelming urge to throttle his brother. “Are you— did you even understand a <em>word</em> I just said?”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy says, flapping a hand in acknowledgement before (somewhat sloppily) refolding the park map. “You think this is a terrible idea—<em>wrong</em>, it’s going to be <em>awesome</em>—and since you’re under oath to do no harm and all that, instead of indulging in standard friendly sibling death threats, you’ve dedicated your afterlife to raining hell on me in an effort to change my mind.” Tucking the already well-worn paper back into his pocket, he turns and gives Connor a toothy, wicked grin. “Weak move if you want me afraid.”</p><p>“Oh, you want to talk <em>fear</em>?” Connor huffs, throwing his left arm sharply out to gesture to whatever infernal contraption lies before them. “We’re paying more money on top of the admission tickets to be packaged into a steel cage ball and jettisoned into the sun with nothing but bungee cables keeping us tethered to solid ground. And somehow, this death trap is classified simply as a <em>thrill ride</em>.”</p><p>As if on cue, the capsule on the platform in front of them launches into the air at an alarming speed, slingshotting the two giggle-shrieking teenage girls strapped inside high above the rest of the amusement park. Connor tucks his lips under in a tense frown, eyes bugging as he motions again to get his point across.</p><p>Tommy flips his sunglasses down from atop his head to squint up at the ball, now rocking back-and-forth as it gently dips just below the tops of the suspension towers. “You might have a point.”</p><p>Connor tosses his hands in the air in relieved victory. “<em>Thank you</em> for renewing my faith in your already minimal common se-…”</p><p>“There <em>has</em> to be a category beyond ‘thrill ride’. That’s too pedestrian a term.” Tommy glances over, giving Connor a once-over from behind his shades with a face-splitting grin. “We should start ranking things on a scale of ‘Connie Rants’. The longer you’ll yammer about how a given attraction is an affront to both amusement park engineering and nature itself, the cooler I’ll know it’s going to be.”</p><p>Before Connor gets the chance to reply, the ride attendant approaches to accept their payment. Tommy hands over the folded bills with a blinding smile, sufficiently distracting from the dizzying cocktail of dread and impending fratricide surely playing across Connor’s face.</p><p>“You can’t actually <em>want</em> to do this,” he hisses at Tommy, watching with trepidation as the cage lowers safely back down to the platform. “Roller coaster junkie, <em>that</em> I expected. <em>This</em> seems like a choice made for the sole purpose of tormenting me.”</p><p>“Well, it <em>is</em> called an amusement park,” Tommy swipes back sagely, pocketing his sunglasses as the previous riders disembark and the attendant prepares to open the gate for the twins. “And isn’t that the time-old duty of being a sibling?”</p><p>Metal hinges creak, and the two of them are ushered to step up and into the capsule. Resigned to his fate, Connor collapses into the seat, going utterly boneless.</p><p>“I’m still trying to determine if this is going to result in my funeral or <em>yours</em>,” he notes, lolling his head to the side to glare at Tommy as the attendant secures the overhead restraint.</p><p>“If it’s mine, make sure they play the ride video during the service,” Tommy replies, settling back and gripping the shoulder harness. “I want any last memories of me to be tied to an act of daredevilry.”</p><p>“Ride video?” Connor repeats weakly, rolling his head back to center as the cage carefully tilts back. The motion draws his attention to the camera affixed to one of the curved bars in front of them, and his eyes go comically wide. “Are you f—”</p><p>That next word gets dragged out in an angry-frightened scream as the two of them are flung into the atmosphere.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Because I will be forever haunted by VeggieTales, this chapter <i>almost</i> ended up being titled "Here We Go Bungee (Come On)" or some variation thereof...</p><p>I... am not even going to try to guess whether our next update will be <i>Old enough</i> or an entry for one of our other Merlyn Boys universes. There's fairly equal odds at this point, so I can't say for certain which it'll be. Regardless, whatever update it is should hopefully come fairly soon!</p><p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Secondhand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Crisis of Infinite Merlyn Boys entry: the obligatory college AU. Connor keeps getting inexplicably (and painfully) mistaken to be someone named "Tommy." It's going to take going against his better judgement and trusting someone with the biggest eyesore of a haircut in order to get the answers he needs.</p>
<p>(Ft. the recognition that Connor Rhodes grew up in Chicago in the '90s, and would have sat in on a particular Stranger Danger assembly.)</p>
<p>Prompt from Abbie: "Is there a reason you're naked in my bed?"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I did not expect that a prompt which I was initially unsure of how to handle and an AU that was intended more as a one-off joke built in part on John Mulaney references would spawn a 3K fic with a Part II eventually to come, and so much world-building for future installments.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>Harvard, October 2003</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Um,” Connor starts, politely averting his eyes from the curly-haired brunette making very scant use of his comforter. “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em>Tommy</em>,” she sighs, somehow making it sound both scolding and sultry. “Is that any way to accept a surprise?” She shifts on the bed, sheets slipping down even further. “I wasn’t sure where you were in the dorms, but I’d seen you out with your roommate enough to recognize him, and he was more than happy to let me in and leave us be for a while.”</p>
<p>As much as that is to unpack (he’ll really need to have a chat with Charlie about letting in strange girls—or <em>anyone</em>, really—claiming to know and wanting to surprise him), there’s one key part of her explanation that sends Connor’s face into his palms with a beleaguered groan.</p>
<p>Really, <em>this</em> again?</p>
<p>“Okay,” he starts, dragging his hands down his face but still keeping his eyes closed. “I’m going to put this as nicely as I can: I have no idea who you are…”</p>
<p>“I’m <em>Jen</em>,” she cuts in, in a questionably helpful way. Good to put a name to the, uh… <em>face</em> in his dorm-supplied twin bed, but her tone is already heated enough to indicate that this isn’t supposed to be a pleasant reminder.</p>
<p>“Great, Jen, then,” Connor acknowledges, then dives back in. “Please listen when I tell you that I did not know your name until you just told me, because we have never <em>met</em> before now. I have no idea why you think it’s acceptable to sneak into someone’s dorm room as an… <em>unwrapped gift</em> at,” he cracks one eye open to squint at his watch, “3:52 on a Wednesday afternoon, but I’m sure this ‘Tommy’ you think I am won’t particularly appreciate it either.”</p>
<p>There’s a moment of stunned silence at that, and Connor, with his eyes still dutifully closed, can’t get a clear read of the room. Still, he hopes that just <em>maybe</em> this will be the time someone actually listens to him and…</p>
<p>“<em>Ugh</em>, I should have <em>known</em> you were actually that much of a bad-boy jerk,” Jen snaps, violently throwing off the covers entirely as they land with a heavy thump on the floor. There’s hasty shuffling like she’s now out of the bed and throwing her clothes back on, all the while ranting, “Saying that you’re not Tommy, oh, <em>that’s</em> rich. Like I don’t know exactly how you look, and that this is some sort of mistaken identity situation.”</p>
<p>Figuring that this disappointing (yet not surprising) reaction means that Jen is decent enough that it won’t be impolite to do so, Connor’s eyes snap back open. “Because that’s <em>exactly</em> what’s happeni—”</p>
<p>Aaaaaaand there’s the slap.</p>
<p>“If you’re not actually interested, don’t lead a girl on and then act like you don’t know her!” Jen calls angrily as she stomps towards the door. It bangs against the wall as she yanks it open—the vibration sending Connor’s small tower of CDs clattering to the wood floor—and just as violently slams shut upon her departure.</p>
<p>Rubbing his stinging left cheek, Connor finally gives in and drops down to the large area rug with an exasperated exhale, flopping onto his back with the limpness of a dead fish. If this keeps happening, he’s going to have a permanent hand-shaped bruise on his face—<em>that’ll</em> be a barrel of fun to explain.</p>
<p>He gets but a few moments to bemoan this continued streak of inexplicable misfortune by himself, before the latch clicks and the door cracks back open.</p>
<p>“I <em>just</em> got settled into one of the comfiest sections of the common area before I was loudly alerted that I no longer needed to be there,” Charlie greets, snapping his Intro to Psych textbook closed and padding the rest of the way into their room. “You know, that girl has a set of lungs on her. Also, a very extensive vocabulary. Is she a theater major?”</p>
<p>“I think I have an evil twin,” Connor admits feebly, not even bothering to address the question. “One who’s very popular with the ladies, yet somehow makes himself scarce when they come calling. Which means <em>I’m</em> the one who gets my soul sucked out through a passionate lip-lock, or my ass smacked while walking through the Yard, or an unclothed guest in my bed. And subsequently gets slapped for kindly telling them that they have the wrong guy.”</p>
<p>“Sure,” Charlie snorts, disbelieving, as he carefully steps over Connor and plops onto his bed. “This ‘evil twin’ want to own up for running in nothing but boxers past the art museum last Thursday night?”</p>
<p>Connor sits bolt-upright at that. “Wait, you’ve seen him? And he did <em>what</em>?”</p>
<p>That just earns him a pillow swatted to the face. “Dude, if you lost a bet or that was some pre-med hazing ritual, I’m not gonna judge you. I <em>will</em>, though, if you keep pretending that wasn’t you.”</p>
<p>“Because it <em>wasn’t</em>…” Connor starts, highly offended, before he gives up and drops bonelessly back down. “Fine, whatever. <em>Clearly</em> it’s more believable that I’m meeting people and doing things about which I later lie and claim I don’t remember, rather than the increasingly probable doppelgänger theory.”</p>
<p>Charlie just rolls his eyes, yanking his pillow away from Connor’s face and propping it up behind his head as he sinks back on the bed. “Come on, you <em>actually</em> think you’re unlucky enough to have ended up at the exact same college as someone who looks completely identical to you and has a wild social life, the consequences of which have been doled out to you?” He pulls a dubious face. “Seems like a stretch to me.”</p>
<p>Connor just rolls over and screams his frustration into the rug.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“Okay, your conjecture <em>might</em> hold a little water,” Charlie admits the following Monday, watching the latest woman scorned sashay away, ponytail swinging. “You’re not even taking an Econ class, and wouldn’t have any reason to lie to her about it to get her to study with you.”</p>
<p>“<em>That’s</em> the detail that convinced you?” Connor grits out, trying very hard to remain upright (if doubled-over) and not topple to the ground in agony. People are already staring with varying degrees of curiosity and unadulterated amusement—no need to further draw their attention. “Not the fact that she called me by a completely different name?”</p>
<p>Charlie just shrugs, patting Connor pityingly on the back before looping one arm around him to help out. “People make mistakes. And how am I to know that you don’t moonlight under a fake name to pick up girls?”</p>
<p>“Exactly <em>what</em> is your understanding of me as a person?” Connor asks, utterly dumbfounded by the suggestion as the two of them carefully stagger down the sidewalk. Hysteria rising to distract from the pain, he cries, “I have spent the last three weekends studying at the library! I don’t even have my <em>own</em> college social life, and certainly not one built entirely on<em> lies</em> under an alias like ‘Tommy’!”</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m just saying. You do seem like a guy who’d enjoy a relationship where he regularly gets his ass handed to him, and, well, that’s a viable method for testing those waters.”</p>
<p>“You are a terrible, terrible friend,” is all Connor manages to groan back, refusing to acknowledge how close to target that assessment hits.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Having endured nearly two full months of painful cases of mistaken identity and no sign of the elusive Econ course-taking, multiple romantic interest-making “Tommy,” Connor has fully accepted that this is to be his campus life moving forward. He still tries—futile as it’s proven time and again—to explain each time that he’s not the boy they’re looking for, if only because it’s the polite thing to do.</p>
<p>(Others’ responses to the revelation, on the other hand, have yet to meet him halfway on that front.)</p>
<p>It would make sense, at this point, to actively start seeking out this apparent look-alike, but even with leads like a first name and enrollment in an intro-level economics course, that’s still too broad a suspect pool. Much as the mystery gnaws at him (and results in various slaps, tellings-off, strikes to more vulnerable parts…), Connor can’t justify putting his already limited free time towards tracking someone down for the sole purpose of proving their existence.</p>
<p>And so, he’s contented—in a <em>very</em> loose sense of the word—himself simply with the knowledge that he has a double somewhere on the Harvard campus, and instead focused his efforts on excelling in this next quarter’s classes.</p>
<p>This goal is what finds him tucked away in the undergraduate library the night before Halloween, bent over books and notepad with an unnecessary sort of concentration for the silence and lack of students in the immediate area. Thursdays usually brought in a decent-sized crowd for a pre-weekend night, but this time, it seems like most are out getting a start on the holiday.</p>
<p>The particular combination of focus and quiet is what alerts Connor so pointedly to the shuffle of feet down one of the aisles to his right, then the sudden halt and hushed backtrack. Whoever else is haunting the stacks tonight seems to be startled to find Connor as well, and isn’t being discreet about how he’s drawn their attention, if the eyes boring into his turned-down skull are any indication.</p>
<p>“Can I <em>help</em> you?” Connor finally prompts, not looking up but speaking clearly enough to address the lurker directly. “Or can we both just go about our evenings without bothering each oth—”</p>
<p>“Yeah, actually,” a male voice interrupts, moving closer with the footsteps until their owner yanks back the chair directly opposite Connor’s and plunks down. He audibly hedges a moment, before amending, “Well, more like<em> I</em> can help <em>you</em>.”</p>
<p>“You don’t say,” Connor says dryly, finally giving his uninvited guest a pointed look up from his books. Doing so reveals a sandy blond-haired guy with what has to be the sleaziest haircut for someone their age, and an expression that wouldn’t look out-of-place on a true crime documentary.</p>
<p>“You’re… <em>Connor</em>, aren’t you?” he starts, smiling in a way that he must think is friendly (or akin enough to it, since he doesn’t seem all that thrilled about this meeting either).</p>
<p>Before he can think better of it, Connor huffs out a bitter laugh at that. “<em>Wow</em>, first time a stranger’s actually called me by that name,” he notes, before making a point of turning back to his work and away from the conversation.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, that doesn’t dissuade the other guy—who Connor feels inclined to call Serial Killer Haircut, given his questionable style and mannerisms. “So it’s been happening to you, too.”</p>
<p><em>That</em> sufficiently draws Connor’s attention back, almost fast enough to give him whiplash from jerking his head up. Probably not the best move, he realizes after a moment, as it’s given too much away, and there isn’t anything <em>close</em> to a resemblance between the two of them.</p>
<p>The dubiety must be sharp on Connor’s face, as Serial Killer Haircut backs up. “No, no, I’m not… it’s my best friend.” His face falls a bit at that, eyes canting to the side with a rising uncertainty—reluctance, even. It lasts for one extended moment, before he finally turns back to Connor and sighs, “And after seeing you… I think you need to meet each other.”</p>
<p>Well, <em>this</em> has certainly taken a turn.</p>
<p>“That uncanny, huh?” Connor murmurs, finally accepting that he’s not getting any more work done until this is over and snapping his textbook closed to give Serial Killer Haircut his full investment in this matter. The guy still skeeves him out a bit—certainly enough that, under any other circumstances, Connor would be throwing his wallet one way and running the other direction—but that hesitation says something about the sincerity of the claim. If this is a prank, there’d be no reason for the blond to sound like making the claim to Connor is the last thing he personally wants to do, but knows it’s the right thing.</p>
<p>Serial Killer Haircut laughs weakly, ducking his head as he gives it a small shake. “I’ve honestly known him my entire life. Even though I knew where he was, when I first walked by,” he lifts his head back up and leans back in the chair, giving Connor a quick once-over, “you actually got me for a second.”</p>
<p>“The fact that you figured it out sets you apart from everyone else.” Connor’s feeling <em>just </em>generous enough to give Serial Killer Haircut that point. “What gave me away?”</p>
<p>“Besides the fact that you must be enough of a nerd to be the only one studying here?” He cracks a grin that’s more than a little sharp and mean—almost like it’s a last-minute reminder to both Connor and himself that they’re not friends—but after a moment, his shoulders drop into an easy shrug. “I don’t know, I just… could tell the difference.”</p>
<p>Connor’s expression sours at the jab, and the unclear explanation only earns a flat hum of acknowledgement. They’ve reached something of a standstill here, and Serial Killer Haircut is starting to wear out his welcome, but Connor doesn’t want to lose this one solid lead to the elusive “Tommy.”</p>
<p>“Well, could you tell me how I can get in contact with him?” Connor finally prompts, reaching for his notebook and pen to jot the information down. The sooner he gets it, the sooner the two of them will be out of the other’s (in <em>certain </em>cases, humanity-affronting) hair. “That way we can find a time to meet up, if he wants to.”</p>
<p>Connor glances up just in time to catch Serial Killer Haircut looking at him as if <em>Connor’s</em> the one who should be posing for a mugshot.</p>
<p>“He was already supposed to meet me after I, uh, found something I thought I left in the stacks earlier, and we were going to go for some pizza,” Serial Killer Haircut admits. “If I don’t bring you with and Tommy finds out I met you, I’m going to wake up tomorrow morning duct-taped to our dorm room ceiling or something.”</p>
<p>Connor finds himself unable to do anything but sputter at that, glancing frantically at the pile of study materials in front of him before managing a strangled “<em>Now?</em>”</p>
<p>As desperately as he now wants the answers that have been teased—as to exactly how similar he looks to Tommy, what that means, <em>why</em> Tommy has so many women looking to slap the living daylights out of him—going from concrete confirmation of Tommy’s existence to actually <em>meeting him</em> is a big jump in such a short time. This is <em>not </em>how Connor expected to be spending his evening.</p>
<p>Alas, Serial Killer Haircut shows no empathy for Connor’s plight (but that was a long-shot, anyway). “It’s not like you have anything better to do—and <em>no</em>, the studying doesn’t count,” he clarifies, glaring at the books before Connor can say anything. “I refuse to be duct tape-waxed—<em>again</em>—when <em>you</em> could have prevented it from happening.”</p>
<p>Tempting as it may be to leave Serial Killer Haircut to his fate, Connor figures that it’s probably better to keep their relationship at a thus-far mild dislike rather than accelerating straight for enemy territory. He gets the impression that the other guy could easily live up to his nickname if pushed the wrong way.</p>
<p>“You’d think I’d know better by now than to be enticed into heading to a secondary location,” Connor cracks as he finally gives in and shoves his books into his bag.</p>
<p>“What?” There’s that look again, the pot calling the kettle certifiable, yet Serial Killer Haircut still gets up from the table and waits for Connor to finish gathering his things.</p>
<p>Connor waves it off, slinging his bag over his shoulder and following the blond out towards the exit.</p>
<p>Time to see if those answers are worth bucking the rules of street smarts.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The payoff starts to roll out the second they step outside the library and into the late fall air, when another figure falls into step on Serial Killer Haircut’s other side and exaggeratedly bumps shoulders with him.</p>
<p>“You took your time,” the newcomer greets, and Connor almost trips over his own feet at the voice. That sounds a little <em>too</em> familiar to his ears, as if it should be originating from his own throat.</p>
<p>Serial Killer Haircut sighs, turning his head and angling his body in just a way that it blocks Connor’s view of Tommy (because that’s<em> surely</em> Tommy) and vice-versa. “I got held up,” he says, and instead of leading into the promised introduction with which he’d persuaded Connor to come along, he just… leaves it at that.</p>
<p>Alright, that’s strike one for Connor going against his better judgement and trusting this guy.</p>
<p>“‘Held up’, huh?” Tommy asks, definitely not buying into the explanation. “Who’s even <em>here</em> the night before Halloween?”</p>
<p>Connor most certainly doesn’t miss the scheming glance Serial Killer Haircut gives him out of the corner of his eye before replying, “You know pre-meds. No social life whatsoever, so they take to hiding out in the library.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Strike two.</em>
</p>
<p>Given Serial Killer Haircut’s mean streak and the claim that he’d known Tommy since birth, Connor braces himself for a returning dig from his unseen doppelgänger. He almost stumbles in surprise again, though, when there instead comes a pitiful groan.</p>
<p>“Yes, I now know more pre-meds than I should, all because they keep accosting me and calling me ‘Connor’ and asking for lab notes that I don’t have and wanting to walk with me to lectures I’m not taking,” Tommy rattles off, voice going tight from the lack of air between words, yet heat never seeps into his tone. He finally gulps in a breath, only to immediately jump back in. “And it… I don’t know, kind of makes me jealous? That there are people out there thinking I’m someone else, and who actually <em>want</em> to find him because he’s great at something, and I ju-…”</p>
<p>The word snaps off so suddenly that Connor unconsciously screeches to a halt in order to crane his head around Serial Killer Hair—disregarding whatever game he’s playing with acting as a human blinder—and find out what interrupted Tommy.</p>
<p>It’s a pretty clear answer when Connor turns to find that Serial Killer Hair has his head tossed back, cackling, a few yards behind them, and Tommy is staring straight at Connor with an utterly dumbstruck expression.</p>
<p>One that Connor is certain that he now mirrors exactly, because there’s looking pretty similar to someone, and then there’s being <em>identical</em>.</p>
<p>“Well,” he starts weakly, looking Tommy straight in the eye, “I can assure you, you’ve been in high demand too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yep. More to come on this, sometime soon. We need to get these Merlyn (college) Boys to actually sit down and chat!</p>
<p>Just out of curiosity, how are people feeling on these various AU trips? Any in particular that you like and want to revisit? Or are <i>Old enough</i> missing scenes/future installments more your jam?</p>
<p>Still working through prompts that span across a variety of our Infinite Merlyn Boys universes, so we'll just have to see what spits out next. Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Foundation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i>Old enough</i> 'verse: a missing moment in the in-between. Mere days after meeting (and still too soon to even think of each other as brothers), Tommy and Connor say goodbye and start to lay some groundwork. </p><p>Prompt from Abbie: "Not the best with words, but I'm told I'm great with a hug."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, this is a time period I never anticipated I'd return to for this particular universe, and it definitely gave me a <i>time</i>. I've just grown so accustomed to these two as the goofy, chaotic, tragic twins we know and love that it was a major challenge to go back and write them as strangers who can still count the time they've known each other in hours, and aren't ready to get their hopes up until they have concrete confirmation that they're indeed brothers. </p><p>But with what I was aiming to try with this prompt, it was a necessary backtrack. I realized that, for as often as I reference these two hugging, I've never officially written it into the Merlyn Boys canon that my particular Connor Rhodes (across the various universes) is a notorious hug monster. If the guy likes you well enough, you are going to be yanked into a bone-creaking hug basically any time you give him the opportunity. To riff on Jane Austen: <i>It is a truth multiversally acknowledged that a Connor Rhodes (or variation thereof) in the presence of someone about whom he cares must be in want of a hug.</i></p><p>So here we are, at the middle of the beginning, to get a glimpse of that first hug. There are a few other bits and pieces also established with this scene that are key to our boys' brotherhood, so it's a very formative moment for them. Hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>May 2008</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Well, this has been one of the more… <em>enlightening</em> benders I’ve been on in recent memory.”</p><p>Connor cocks his head at that, giving Tommy a just-short-of-judgmental look. “That’s an awfully nonchalant way to acknowledge the gravity of the situation,” he points out, resting his right arm on the roof of the car.</p><p>(He doesn’t remark on the classification of Tommy’s latest activities as a “bender,” though it does strike a note of concern in the back of his mind. The sinking of the <em>Queen’s Gambit</em> was covered extensively enough last fall that Connor was at least aware of the tragedy, but learning of Tommy’s closeness to Oliver Queen puts things in a new, more personal perspective.</p><p>Grief can be a destructive thing, if left festering and unhealthily addressed long enough. Connor only hopes that Tommy will be safe from that particular spiral.)</p><p>Tommy shrugs, conceding that point before he reaches into the back seat to retrieve his lone bag. Swinging the loosely-packed navy blue duffel onto his left shoulder with a flourish, he makes sure the door latches securely and begins to make his way around to the front of the car.</p><p>“Hey, in my defense, I’m still not entirely certain that this isn’t a side effect of getting socked in the face.” He waves a hand at the shiner around his right eye—now in full bloom, a couple days in—keeping his fingers a safe distance away as not to inadvertently graze the sensitive skin.</p><p>Connor pulls his lips into a thin line, leveling a displeased look at his maybe-brother. “I offered to check you for a concussion, first thing,” he reminds Tommy. “You could have taken me up on that then—or, really, any other time before you needed a ride to the airport—if you’re so concerned.”</p><p>Tommy makes an incorrect buzzer noise in response, pointing an accusing finger. “You asked if I had <em>already</em> been looked over, and in a way that was clearly meant to be a dig at me. Also, having the suspected figment of my concussed imagination judge whether or not I have a head injury seems like a faulty method.”</p><p>Alright, fair.</p><p>“Well, in that case, I guess my only advice would be to get an examination as soon as you get back, and hopefully, in a few days, we’ll have more concrete proof one way or another,” Connor says, glancing over to match Tommy’s stare.</p><p>That sobers the light, teasing mood as both men settle into an awed hush at the reminder. Neither dares verbally acknowledge the hair and blood samples and cheek swabs carefully collected the day before, now awaiting delivery to a trusted medical contact for testing—and, ideally, confirmation (multiple times over).</p><p>This is just too precarious a situation—stacked with hopes higher than Connor personally wants to admit—to not be a little superstitious.</p><p>Another plane takes off directly overhead, engines roaring and drowning out that delicate silence. The sound snaps Connor’s attention back to the present, reminding him of exactly where they are and why.</p><p>“I should probably get going,” Tommy admits, twisting his wrist to glance at a watch he belatedly realizes he doesn’t have. That arm instead moves smoothly to his bag strap, giving it a tug to ensure that it’s sitting securely on his shoulder. “Coach class, that’s what I get for catching a flight across the border when Dad has the jet, and I don’t book the return ticket simultaneously.”</p><p>“My condolences,” Connor says dryly, giving Tommy a not-so-pitying look.</p><p>He gets a mocking face in response, but Tommy eventually relaxes into a friendlier smile. It wobbles slightly, though, as another moment passes and still his feet remain immovable, as if his shoes have melted into the parking lot asphalt.</p><p>It seems as if Connor’s not the only one who’s uncertain of where things go from here. Still, he’s willing to give it a try.</p><p>“So, uh, goodbyes,” Connor finally stumbles, tapping his hand against the roof in a one-two before pushing off and uncertainly rounding the front of the car. He stops once he’s just out of arm’s reach from his probably-brother, so as not to catch Tommy off-guard.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tommy eventually agrees on a half-laugh, shoulders hunching awkwardly to keep his duffel bag from sliding down as his hands disappear into his jeans pockets. “If there’s some sort of etiquette for meeting your lookalike—whether or not you turn out to <em>actually</em> be related—I sure don’t know about it.” He rocks back on his heels as his lips pull into a “what can you do” sort of expression.</p><p>Connor may have an answer to that.</p><p>“Well,” he starts, arms splaying out as his shoulders rise in a casual shrug. “Not the best with words, but I’m told I’m great with a hug.”</p><p>That brings Tommy’s feet back flat to the ground, securing him in place as bewilderment blooms on his face.</p><p>“<em>Wow</em>,” he starts, surveying Connor up and down with boggled eyes. “And here I was expecting you to offer, like, a stuffy, cordial handshake and your business card, or something.”</p><p>Connor pulls a sour face at that, but doesn’t back down or lower his arms. “Yeah, I get it, you think I’m boring, a wet blanket…”</p><p>“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth,” Tommy warns, giving Connor a pointed glance. A beat, then he corrects, “Killjoy, maybe. Missing a certain <em>joie de vivre</em>…”</p><p>“You’re just rephrasing.” Connor frowns, and blurts before he can think better of it, “And I resent those remarks. I’m not just some sort of… moody, unfeeling workaholic—I<em> do</em> know how to have fun, you know.”</p><p>“Sure, Connie.”</p><p>Frosty silence seems like the appropriate response to that playfully condescending acknowledgement.</p><p>“<em>What did you just call me?</em>”</p><p>Tommy only grins smugly back.</p><p>Oh, so <em>that’s</em> how they’re playing things.</p><p>“Look, do you want a hug or not, <em>asshole</em>?” Connor finally snaps, jerking his still-outstretched arms for emphasis. If Tommy insists on making this goodbye chock-full of lighthearted insults and teasing jabs, then Connor might as well wrap his sincere offer with the same sharp paper.</p><p>Hopefully, if anything, it’ll get his… <em>his brother</em> to make a decision already.</p><p>Sure enough, there’s a beat of surprised silence at the renewed offer, before it’s swept under by Tommy’s dramatic sigh.</p><p>“Well, if you <em>insist</em>.” The tone makes it sound like compliance stemming out of indifference, but it’s so over-the-top that it’s unquestionably a front. Still, Tommy steps forward and opens his arms, albeit a bit hesitantly.</p><p>That’s the only invitation Connor needs to latch on and drag Tommy in with a tight squeeze.</p><p>It’s hard to ignore the startle response that makes Tommy jolt and his back go pin-straight in the hold, but the fact that he doesn’t pull away at all is why Connor isn’t more concerned. From the prolonged stillness, it seems that Tommy is stunned rather than uncomfortable—almost like he’d expected something much more half-hearted, just for show. A hasty embrace that’s a hug in execution only.</p><p>Connor appends to that observation a moment later, when the tension sloughs off Tommy’s body and he clutches at Connor like the first gulp of air after a massive crying jag. It would be one thing if he hadn’t anticipated a hug like this and had simply appreciated what it turned out to be; this reaction reads like Tommy’s received something he so desperately wanted—<em>needed</em>—but hadn’t dared hope he would be given. </p><p>That just makes Connor want to squeeze even tighter, both to validate Tommy’s wishes, and prove that he needs this just as much.        </p><p>As right as it would feel for this hug to last so much longer—it’s quite possibly making up for twenty-three years of separation, after all—airline schedules are not so accommodating.</p><p>Tommy draws back first (much as Connor hoped, out of concern over breaking the hug before Tommy was ready), clapping a hand on Connor’s back in thanks as he does so. In already-perfect unison, they both drop their arms from the hold, allowing themselves to move more freely.</p><p>“I actually <em>do</em> have to go now,” Tommy says with a nervous laugh, waving an arm at the terminal. “If I wait any longer, I might end up stranded, and with my luck, Dad’s actually going to notice that I’m not in Starling…”</p><p>“Of course,” Connor cuts in with a nod of understanding (and silently files away yet another offhand comment about Tommy and his relationship with his—<em>their?</em>—father). “I’ll… I’ll get back to you soon.”</p><p>Tommy acknowledges that promise with a small smile and bob of the head, before tugging on his duffel strap once more and finally heading off to his destination.</p><p>He makes it about six steps away from the car before he pivots on his heel, turning back to meet Connor’s eyes.</p><p>“You know, I really…” Tommy starts, pausing to swallow thickly. After a moment, he makes as if to continue, but his mouth clicks shut before a single sound escapes. There’s a certain wariness and alarm in his eyes as he does so, like he’s forced back an admission out of fear that giving it voice will jinx the truth, or that he’s alone in that opinion.</p><p>Connor can at least offer reassurance on the latter.</p><p>“Yeah,” he agrees softly, “I really hope so, too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Since we've gone eleven installments without me mentioning it, I'll come out and confess it: the "Connie" nickname is a retcon. (A retConnie, if you will.)</p><p>Connor is never called by that name in the original <i>Old enough</i>, and while, in part, that story's tone doesn't lend itself well to that teasing nickname, it's mostly because "Connie" was a byproduct of chats with Abbie a while after I'd finished posting. Originally started as a joke, it was referenced more and more often and in increasingly hilarious ideas for brotherly shenanigans that I officially determined that Tommy mercilessly calls his brother "Connie," both to be annoying and as an endearment. I slotted it in with the newer pieces, even if those canonically take place within the timeframe covered in <i>Old enough</i>, and this installment now serves as the first chronological use of the name.</p><p>Still have a list of prompts through which I'm gradually working, as well as some new, non-prompt Infinite Merlyn Boys pieces being built. I'm trying my best to get things out with some regularity, but it's been a bit tougher lately--rest assured, I'm never letting go of these Boys, it's just that the words and inspiration are sputtering and stalling. Hopefully things will be able to work out enough for me to get another bit up soon.</p><p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The basic step</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A Crisis of Infinite Merlyn Boys entry: back to the "Take It Back Now Y'all" timeline. Connor begins to learn the consequences of revealing himself as a Merlyn, both on himself and on his existing relationships.</p>
<p>Prompt from Abbie: "And that's how you ruin a life. Congratulations."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's been a minute since I've given any version of our favorite twins some love--sorry about that, team. Hope you enjoy some brotherly banter (with added personal crises on Connor's part) with another trip into the time travel AU.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“And <em>that’s</em> how you ruin a life. Congratulations.”</p>
<p>Connor comes to with a half-snort just in time for what feels like a newspaper to smack him full in the face.</p>
<p>“The <em>hell</em>, Tommy?” he grouses, doing his best to disguise the high-pitched whine underneath a jaw-cracking yawn. He flounders with the blankets to groggily push himself up into a seated position against the wall behind the bed, before belatedly snapping, “Get out of my room, asshole” like a sullen teenager.</p>
<p>“Happy to oblige,” his brother replies cheerfully, yet Connor doesn’t hear any shuffling or footfalls to corroborate that statement. After a moment, he finally cracks one eye open (immediately protesting the sun’s glare through an opening in the curtains) to see Tommy standing directly in the doorway, making jazz hands.</p>
<p>“Threshold, it doesn’t count!” The Cheshire grin doesn’t waver—it <em>grows</em>, even—when Tommy contorts his body to evade the pillow that Connor subsequently lobs at him.</p>
<p>Not willing to try again and further feed into this childish back-and-forth, Connor lets his head fall back against the wall as he scrubs a hand over his face. “Do I <em>want</em> to know why you thought it was necessary to use the spare key I gave you <em>for emergencies</em> and come barging into my place at…” He fumbles his free hand blindly over the nightstand. “…where’s my phone…?”</p>
<p>The very distinctive sound of a throat clearing makes Connor pause in his poorly-planned search. “If you’d turn your attention to your morning briefing,” Tommy prompts, nodding towards the jettisoned paper now resting in Connor’s lap. He clearly means to phrase it like a joke, but there’s an undercurrent of unease in his tone.</p>
<p>The reason for it becomes clear once Connor’s vision defogs enough for him to make out the contents of the front page.</p>
<p>(It’s admittedly not very difficult to do so, not with the font choice and very recognizable subjects of the blown-up photo positioned front-and-center.)</p>
<p>“Oh.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, <em>‘oh’</em>,” Tommy parrots, finally sinking down to sit with his back propped against one side of the doorframe. “Just wanted to make sure you knew that <em>this</em> is what you signed up for and very casually accepted when we told Dad.”</p>
<p>“I guess I just… wasn’t quite expecting it to be on this level,” Connor confesses, a whole truth that he so rarely tells these days. He had, indeed, been ready for the Starling City media outlets catching wind of a lookalike to one of their questionably-favorite headline-makers, and whatever fallout ensued from telling their father.</p>
<p>(So far, it’s just been a simple press release pulled together through the preferred Merlyn Global PR channels—Malcolm forwent any sort of public address, likely so he could regroup and reexamine how being pulled into the spotlight like this might affect his plans moving forward. Neither of the twins have crossed paths with him since securing the future of the clinic, putting them into direct contrast with Malcolm’s ghostwritten wishes of “reuniting and getting to be a family with [his] two sons.”)</p>
<p>But this?</p>
<p>
  <em>FROM RICHES TO RICHES: CHICAGO DEPARTMENT STORE HEIR REVEALED AS SON OF STARLING CITY BILLIONAIRE</em>
</p>
<p>Connor could maybe live—albeit uncomfortably—with being demoted from (up-and-coming, at this point) surgeon to just “<em>that </em>Rhodes.” Being called Malcolm’s son is toeing a line, but it’s an admittedly necessary evil. Even the accompanying photo—snapped by some paparazzo or another during one of Connor’s carefully-coordinated excursions through downtown Starling City—gets a pass, having captured Connor with his eyes squeezed shut in laughter and Tommy’s arm slung playfully around his neck.</p>
<p>No, the thing that really smacks Connor with his miscalculation is the newspaper’s logo printed across the top, and how it decidedly does <em>not</em> match that of any of the local publications.</p>
<p>“This is a big day for you,” Tommy says, falling just short of teasing as he rolls his head towards Connor and his eyebrows shoot up. “You made national news, you overnight celebrity, you.”</p>
<p>Connor groans, tipping to the side and unceremoniously face-planting into the mattress.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“You are <em>seriously</em> lucky that you told Claire that all of this was coming down before word got out,” Tommy declares around the slice of toast dangling out of his mouth when Connor steps into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed for casual comfort.</p>
<p>(Evidently, he’s not going to be showing his face outside of his apartment today, so faded jeans and the first t-shirt blindly unearthed from one of the boxes yet to be unpacked it is.</p>
<p>…At least the sunglasses-wearing Golden Retriever screen-printed on the front is adorable.)</p>
<p>Cringing—both at the reminder and the ill-mannered voicing of it—Connor yanks open the refrigerator to retrieve the orange juice bottle. “I know, I know, and I should be grateful that you were the one who pushed me to do so…”</p>
<p>“Damn right.” Tommy takes a bite and then waves the remainder of the bread for emphasis. Miraculously, not a single glob of cherry-berry jam slips off and plops onto the kitchen island as he does so. “<em>You</em> almost forgot entirely.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t… forget <em>entirely</em>,” Connor counters weakly. He ignores Tommy’s displeased look in favor of grabbing a clean juice glass from the cupboard. “I was trying to handle one reveal at a time, and getting the clinic back was the higher priority.”</p>
<p>“Right. And that’s why you yelled, ‘Oh shit, <em>Claire</em>!’ and whacked your knee on the dashboard as we were about to pull out of the parking lot after dropping the bomb on Dad. <em>Clearly</em> a smooth transition into the next stage—I commend your planning skills.”</p>
<p>Connor takes a swig of orange juice rather than giving that a verbal reply, daintily lifting a finger that’s decidedly <em>not</em> his pinky as he does so.</p>
<p>“Hey, it might be made for spreading delicious jams and jellies, but I <em>will</em> use this knife if you keep being rude,” Tommy warns, pointing the utensil at Connor threateningly enough that the dulled edges can be excused.</p>
<p>Withdrawing the glass from his lips, Connor raises his hands in casual surrender before setting it down on the counter. “Alright,” he starts, blowing out a deep breath, “so maybe I had a bit of… tunnel vision about all of this.”</p>
<p>Really, that’s the nicest way Connor can phrase it, without exposing the full ugliness of the truths underneath. Tommy’s right—Connor owes him credit for getting that conversation with Claire in motion immediately after the realization hit. But he’s also mistaken, thinking that this was something that just slipped Connor’s mind and to-do list.</p>
<p>In actuality, the idea had never truly crossed his mind, not until after they’d confronted Malcolm.</p>
<p>It’s a cruel confession, one with many layers that drive the knife in deeper and deeper. Connor had been single-mindedly focused on saving Tommy’s life, uniquely capable of doing so due to his knowledge of the months to come—as a result, everything else took an automatic backseat. And while that alone admittedly isn’t the healthiest mindset, the situation worsens the more Connor thinks on it and can <em>rationalize</em> what might have been, had Tommy not intervened.</p>
<p>He can tell himself that things would have been <em>fine</em>, leaving Claire be for a while. He’s lived through this before, knows that his relationship with his sister was as simple and distant as exchanging a few texts on birthdays and major holidays at this point in the timeline. It would still be a few years yet before they’d begin to repair things, after both are in Chicago again and Russell is brought in and Claire reaches out and Connor finally <em>breaks</em>, one mid-May night. He has <em>time</em>.</p>
<p>That would have been justification—cold, but still reasonable—enough, had things transpired as they did before. But with Connor doing everything in his power to alter the timeline, to avert mass casualties and his own personal loss… if everything goes right, he’s never going to hit that breaking point. Never going to move back to Chicago, at least not under the same circumstances. Any time he thought he had doesn’t so much run out as become <em>nonexistent</em>—no progress with rebuilding their relationship, but also no further decay.</p>
<p>At least, that’s what would have been the case if he didn’t fix things with Claire <em>and</em> didn’t reveal himself to Malcolm. It was moving forward with the latter that finally sent the consequences careening into Connor’s face, and slapped a definitive countdown clock on the former.</p>
<p>Saving Tommy while flying under the radar like Connor’s always done would be one thing. Doing so by coming forward as a Merlyn, and leaving the Rhodes family to hear the news along with the rest of the public, though?</p>
<p>Banging his knee against the dash at the realization was only going to be the beginning of Connor’s pain, if he didn’t handle things right and immediately.</p>
<p>Sacrificing his relationship with his older sister has never been on the table, even if Connor wants nothing to do with Cornelius Rhodes ever again. Yes, they aren’t blood-related, and yes, Claire’s loyalty to Cornelius (and discrediting of Connor’s issues with him outside of genetics) was still a rift even after reconciliation the first time around, but those are, in no way, grounds for complete severance.</p>
<p>“You can’t risk irreparable damage with one sibling just so you can officially be recognized as a brother to the other,” Tommy sighs, dragging Connor out of his thoughts even as the sentiment grounds them. Brushing stray toast crumbs off the island and onto his plate, Tommy slides off his chair to bring the dish over to the sink. “So no more of that ‘tunnel vision’, okay? I was actually hoping to invite Claire out for a visit once things settle down, and that isn’t going to go well if the two of you aren’t talking.”</p>
<p>Connor’s stomach twists at Tommy’s request—it’s too easy to equate giving up that laser-focus with risking Tommy’s life—only to plummet, heavy with guilt, when the rest hits him. “You were?”</p>
<p>“Well, yeah.” Tommy shoots Connor a confused look over his shoulder as he turns on the faucet. “She’s your sister, and even if that doesn’t really make her mine too, I still want to get to know her. Especially since I’ve had ‘Claire for Fashion Help Only’ saved in my contacts list for years and never put two-and-two together.”</p>
<p>Right, <em>that</em> had been a surprise. Knowing that Claire and Tommy had met once before at Dolan Rhodes and that Claire remembered it enough that she kept the receipt had been one thing; finding out that she’d given Tommy a means to contact her and he held onto it even as the memory of where it came from faded was something else entirely.</p>
<p>It meant that, even as Tommy’s existence shattered the truths she thought she knew about her family, Claire still cared enough to quietly anchor him to the Rhodeses and ensure that he wouldn’t be lost again. It meant that, even though the encounter didn’t linger and the gravity of it was concealed, Tommy was just aware enough of that tether to keep a grip on it.</p>
<p>Most importantly, though, it meant that this was a link that had existed in Connor’s original timeline, and could have surfaced in a quieter and more personal way than over a hastily-placed phone call, warning Claire of the oncoming explosion of her family’s private life.</p>
<p>It would have been entirely possible to keep both—eventually <em>all</em>, with the addition of Thea—of his siblings and forge bonds between them without causing a big fuss. Claire might have balked at first over not telling Cornelius anything, but Connor has enough faith that her wishes to reconnect with one brother and accept a new one would have won out in the end. Tommy, if his latest confession says anything, would have smothered the eagerness, but still jumped at the chance to acquire a new sibling. All Connor would have had to do was give his two family ties a tug, and that thin, invisible connection between them would keep the ends close while drifting to center.</p>
<p>But that was a could-have-been in a timeline gone by, one that Connor had never grasped for even though it was fully in his power to do so. Any second chance he has this time around is going to come with a sea of new complications and resistance, and that’s after he almost let it slip from his fingers at the very start.</p>
<p>It’s a certain painful irony, Tommy salvaging Connor’s fraying family life while Connor does his damndest to ensure that Tommy remains <em>alive</em> in general.</p>
<p>“We’ll shoot for this summer to get together,” Connor finally says, throat tightening around the words as if fearful he’s promising too much. “Let the fifteen minutes run out and give the media time to go rabid over something else.”</p>
<p>Tommy hums in acknowledgement, setting his clean plate on the drying rack next to the sink. “We could probably make it a little earlier, really—beat out the summer heat wave, but still leave enough time for the story run its full course. She could come in mid-, late spring, maybe?”</p>
<p>Connor is incredibly grateful that Tommy’s back is still turned, because the agonized cringe that suggestion provokes is insuppressible.</p>
<p>Tommy is going to survive—Connor won’t accept any other outcome (<em>never again</em>). But in the event that he can’t bring an end to Malcolm’s plans ahead of time, or prevent them from being put in motion, or…</p>
<p>“Nah, I’m thinking July,” Connor manages after a moment, keeping his voice level and casual before he takes a final swig of orange juice. “We’ll get Claire in town for a few days, then maybe do a short road trip. Get out, see some sights—you know, family bonding stuff.”</p>
<p>Tommy lets out a snort of laughter at that and flicks some lingering soap suds at Connor’s face before toweling off his hands. “Long hours in an overstuffed, overheated car with your adult siblings—that sounds like the perfect set-up for a successful fratricide.”</p>
<p>“Come on, a little positivity here. Claire’s going to love you.”</p>
<p>“Oh, no, <em>I’m</em> not the victim here, and neither is she,” Tommy corrects. “If you pass out in the back and start saying weird shit in your sleep again, I get the feeling that she’ll be on the same page as me about booting you out of the car in the middle of nowhere.”</p>
<p>Connor allows himself an exaggerated eye-roll at that, but otherwise lets it slide.</p>
<p>Tommy shoots his balled-up paper towel into the kitchen trash can before turning his attention back to Connor, his eyes stopping pointedly on the grinning, shades-sporting Golden. “Alright, since you’re <em>clearly</em> not dressed to be going anywhere in broad daylight, what do you say I run you off Rainbow Road a couple times? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you prioritized hooking up the Wii over all of your other unpacking.”</p>
<p>“Big talk for a guy with a shell-shaped target on his back,” Connor swipes back, but he grins and heads into the living room to grab the remotes and wheel controllers.</p>
<p>As driven as he is to save his brother’s life, a few Mario Kart victories are a worthy-enough detour.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm still trying to get things out fairly consistently, alternating between <i>(Wc)ttwio</i> and my other ongoing ficlet collection, but I'll admit that I'm burning out a little bit quicker than I was at the beginning of all of this. Please bear with me, and know that I'm not leaving our Boys or any of their counterparts behind.</p>
<p>Still working my way through a number prompts across all of our existing Merlyn Boys universes, and I'll confess that I have pieces for a few new ones in motion. We'll see which ones come next.</p>
<p>Until then!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. A night of the bad dreams (sad things)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sometimes the best treatment for bad dreams is a brother's support.</p>
<p>Prompts from Anonymous: "Don't shut me out"/"You had a nightmare, tell me what it was about so I can fix it."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I was aiming to have this out a bit earlier, to line up more with the one-year anniversary of the completed posting of <i>Old enough</i> (which was on the 21st), but seeing as I didn't really seem to find the groove I wanted until earlier today, hopefully the delay was worth it. It's only a couple days off-schedule, so I count that as a victory!</p>
<p>There <i>may</i> be a continuation of this scene, under a new prompt and probably switching POVs, but that may depend on how well I can work the idea I want to cover into this framework. I'll aim to have that one next (sure to be titled under another lyric from Sara Bareilles's "Not Alone," as this chapter is), though we'll see how it works out.</p>
<p>Anyways, have some <i>Old enough</i> Boys feels (and don't mind the ominous clock-ticking with this timestamp)!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>January 2013</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>When Tommy jolts awake, the startled release of air from his lungs doesn’t echo off the walls of a too big, too empty house, like he expects.</p>
<p>Instead, he’s immediately aware of the crick in his neck from resting on the pillow propped against the couch arm, and the carpet fibers underneath his fingers as they drape down. They’re not particularly specific sensations, and the dark conceals any features of his surroundings, but it’s enough to ground Tommy and assuage his immediate fears.</p>
<p>Just the lingering vestiges of a dream, a memory. Wherever he is, it isn’t <em>there</em>, and he hasn’t been quite so little in a very long time—no matter how <em>some</em> people still try to make him feel that way.</p>
<p>The couch cushions groan (echoing the one in Tommy’s mind) as he sits up and shuffles back to prop up against the arm. He lifts the hand that was resting limply on his chest and scrubs at his face—rubbing out the pair of damp trails marking his cheeks—before dropping it onto the thick wool blanket in his lap. The one grazing the floor, though, fumbles along in search of the foot switch for the floor lamp his brain sluggishly remembers is right behind him. It doesn’t take too long for his fingertips to catch on ribbed plastic, and with a click, the space floods with a momentarily-blinding light.</p>
<p>Tommy hisses as he ducks his head, only to bring it back up a moment later so his eyes can adjust and take in the details of the room, to latch onto anything familiar to fully drag himself out of his head and into the present.</p>
<p>His anchor makes that choice for him, letting out a sleep-slurred grumble from the well-loved recliner perpendicular to the couch.</p>
<p>“Whuzzgoinon?” The leather creaks, and a dark head of mad scientist-level mussed hair leans forward with a swollen-eyed glare.</p>
<p>Well <em>that</em> slams Tommy back to awareness and alertness faster than anything else would have.</p>
<p>“Sorry,” he blurts none-too-quietly, but when Connor winces at the noise, Tommy drops his tone and tries again. “Sorry. Got a little disoriented, forgot where I was. And, frankly, didn’t expect you to be here, seeing as I can now tell that this is <em>your</em> apartment, and you have an actual bed.”</p>
<p>“Mm,” his brother, epitome of eloquence, mumbles, flapping a hand in acceptance of that explanation as he drops into the widest yawn Tommy’s ever seen. “Must’ve passed out here.”</p>
<p>“Well, we <em>did</em> have a real fiesta of a night,” Tommy teases in reply, his brain catching up to his more recent memories. “Chucking balls across the floor in borrowed, questionably-smelling shoes makes for quite a workout.”</p>
<p>Connor’s hand lands over his eyes with an audible <em>smack</em>. “What even made you think of going bowling, anyway?”</p>
<p>Tommy shrugs. “Just seemed like a bit of light fun. I’ve needed something like that for a while, and thought it’d work well for my Birthday Coin Toss win.” The explanation out, he switches gears and tries to nudge his twin’s attention away. “Go back to sleep, Connie—for real this time, yeah?”</p>
<p>Luck, it seems, is not on Tommy’s side tonight, as Connor only sits up straighter at the suggestion, hand slipping from his face to reveal a much clearer gaze as it locks on Tommy.</p>
<p>“You needed a bit of light fun,” he repeats slowly, a pensive crease forming in his brow. He pauses a moment to turn the words over, then tries again. “I thought you said things were getting better. With Laurel, and being cut off, and…”</p>
<p>“They were,” Tommy cuts in frantically, almost physically leaping off the couch as he does so. “<em>Are</em>. Everything’s fine. It’s just… still a lot of <em>change</em>, you know? Gets a little draining.”</p>
<p>Connor meets that with a slow nod, but the fact that his frown doesn’t ease makes it clear that he’s not done picking this apart. “Makes sense for wanting to go with lower-key hijinks…”</p>
<p>“Oh, come <em>on</em>, the perfect word was <em>right</em> in front of you. <em>Tomfoolery</em>. Practically <em>named</em> for me.”</p>
<p>“…But if the effects are disrupting your sleep, too?” Connor finishes, giving Tommy a heavy stare. “You’re not going to get by me with a hand-wave-y explanation like that.”</p>
<p>Any amusement that Tommy coerced into his expression with his previous (and clearly ignored) quip bleeds out at those words. “What?”</p>
<p>“A minute ago, you told me you got disoriented,” Connor reminds him. “But what woke you up in the first place? And why was it enough that you needed to throw the light on?”</p>
<p>Oh, Tommy’s not liking how close his brother is tripping to the truth.</p>
<p>“You had a nightmare,” Connor concludes with the confidence of the medical professional he’s becoming. He motions with his hand as he settles back in the recliner. “Tell me what it was about so I can fix it.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline in dubiety. “You switch your residency from Trauma Surgery to Psychology on me, or something?” He pats both hands around his forehead and face in vague measurement. “I’m happy with the size of my head, no shrinking necessary, thanks.”</p>
<p>Connor’s lips thin at the comments, but still he persists. “You said it yourself—it’s a lot of change. And while it sounds like, from what you’ve told me, it’s mostly good change… ‘mostly’ isn’t ‘completely’.” He leans forward, elbows dropping to his thighs for balance. “Is there something bothering you?”</p>
<p>“You mean besides <em>you</em>, right now?” It comes out as more of a snap than Tommy wants it to be, but if his brother would just <em>leave it alone</em>…</p>
<p>That only serves to bring a slightly pained expression to Connor’s face.</p>
<p>“Tommy, please.” There’s a faint thread of exasperation in his tone, but the cracking on that last word gives Tommy pause. “Don’t shut me out. Whatever it is, let me help, okay?”</p>
<p>That twists something in Tommy’s chest, almost like <em>guilt</em>.</p>
<p>It’s been almost five years, and yet he’s still not used to the fact that having a brother means having someone else in his corner—emotional support he’s already much too short on. So much of his relationship with Connor has been centered around lower-stakes, silly fun; just getting to know each other after a lifetime separated. It’s not that truly opening up is something that Tommy is averse to doing; there’s just rarely been a real <em>need</em> to do so.</p>
<p>Being a brother—a <em>twin</em>—settled in both of them so bone-deep that it just… <em>is</em>. Putting things in words and vocalizing them feels superfluous.</p>
<p>Oh, there have been conversations and misunderstandings cleared up, discussions of each other’s current aggravations and concerns—words falling freely and meeting a willing ear. Those topics were more trivial, or at the very least easier to slip off the tongue (even the heavier ones, though those were typically loosened and floated along by alcohol). Arguably, talking about a nightmare should count among that number of insignificant subjects, but there are always exceptions to that rule.</p>
<p>Still, Tommy falters on his rejection in the face of Connor’s plea—doctor’s head and brother’s heart, working in tandem and wanting nothing more than to heal.</p>
<p>“This was a one-off bad dream—it… hasn’t happened in a long time,” Tommy finally confesses, draping an arm across his forehead as he lies back. “But yeah, I guess the fact that it’s come back is related to everything that’s going on, or at least one particular corner of my life.”</p>
<p>His vision obscured, Tommy relies on the hum of acknowledgement and the shuffle of fabric over leather to confirm Connor’s attention, before continuing. “I- I told you that, after Mom died, Dad disappeared for a good two years, right?”</p>
<p>“‘Good’ doesn’t seem like the right choice of word for that situation, in any use,” Connor growls lowly, “but yeah, you did.”</p>
<p>“Cool.” Tommy swallows thickly, and lets his arm slide back down from his face. “So, uh, he did that. Which meant that, from ages eight to ten, I kind of bounced between staying with Ollie and the Queens—huh, that’d make a good band name—and living back home with the part-time staff.”</p>
<p>Connor doesn’t seem to have any words to verbalize in response, but the living room definitely feels a bit more frigid than it did a moment ago, before Tommy dropped that truth.</p>
<p>“And, you know, it was fine during the daytime, when it was light out and there were more people around the house. By evening, though… well, the nanny was there a number of nights, and I slept over at Queen Manor for most of the ones when she wasn’t, but still, that was when I was so aware of how <em>empty</em> the house was.”</p>
<p>For a split second, Tommy finds himself slipping again, into the tiny body that hasn’t been his for nearly twenty years, burrowed protectively under layers upon layers of blankets to muffle the mansion’s hollow echoing—to hide himself away from the nothingness before it consumes him. Or maybe it’ll just see in him what Dad must have and leave too, because Tommy’s never been good at giving reasons to <em>stay</em>…</p>
<p>“Hey.”</p>
<p>The cushion under Tommy’s feet jostles lightly, and he snaps back to the now with a sharp breath. The sound doesn’t clatter noisily against too-still silence, instead landing softly in the glow of the lamp and the shadow of Connor’s concerned expression.</p>
<p>His brother draws his own outstretched foot back from the edge of the couch to settle again on the floor in front of the recliner. “You’re not there anymore.”</p>
<p>An obvious statement, given that Connor’s never set foot in the manor and Tommy can hear the faint city sounds of Gotham beyond the living room window, but he recognizes it for the grounding it is and grabs on with both hands.</p>
<p>“Right,” he sighs, his gaze locking on the ceiling. “Been a long time since my nights were like that, and… not <em>quite</em> as long since my unconscious last decided to screw with me and yank open that particular memory box.”</p>
<p>Connor lets out a low hum of acknowledgement at that, but doesn’t say anything more on the subject. He’s informed enough on the goings-on of Tommy’s life these days that he can puzzle out the culprit behind the resurgence of such dreams.</p>
<p>(Hilarious how Malcolm trying to wedge his way into Tommy’s life invokes recollections of a time when his absence was a weeping wound. It’s not like Tommy needs to be reminded of the consequences, were he to actually let his father get close.)</p>
<p>“What do you need?” Connor finally asks, his voice dipping quiet and thoughtful with the question. It’s not a tone that Tommy is used to hearing his brother speak in, but it rings of such sincerity that he rolls his head to the side to meet Connor’s expectant gaze. “What usually helps you after these kinds of dreams?”</p>
<p>“Gonna write me up a prescription for the good stuff, Dr. Rhodes?” Tommy cracks instinctively, even as his chest fills with a certain warmth.</p>
<p>Luckily, Connor takes it as the knee-jerk reaction it is—reaching for humor to mask vulnerability, even when it’s entirely safe to have it exposed—and just rolls his eyes fondly. “You snore enough already <em>without</em> the help of sleep aids. Pick something else.”</p>
<p>Tommy clicks his tongue in a jokingly disappointed way, but sobers as he casts his eyes carefully down. “I think just… noise helps. Voices, more specifically. Nothing too loud, or punctuated in any particular way.” His runs his fingers up and down over the carpet in a slow drag, trying to focus on his thoughts. “A lot of times, I’d put on headphones and whatever music with quieter vocals I had, or maybe a late-night radio station that had hosts on-air. After I moved out, it was whatever early-morning programming I could find that wasn’t sitcom reruns or <em>Law &amp; Order</em> marathons. Feel like I can recite Shake Weight infomercials in my sleep.”</p>
<p>“Please don’t.” Connor sounds incredibly pained by the thought.</p>
<p>“Hypothetically, of course. You and I both know that <em>I’m</em> not the Comatose Chatterbox here.”</p>
<p>“Asshole.”</p>
<p>“Now <em>that</em> I’ll own up to,” Tommy concedes, lifting his hand from the carpet to jab a finger at his brother for emphasis.</p>
<p>Connor seems to accept that, and shifts back in his seat. “I can turn on the TV, find something that’ll work,” he offers, gesturing to the flatscreen to his right. He pauses a moment, considering, before he cracks a faintly amused smile. “Or I can captivate you with standard treatment procedures for various traumas. Lots of nonsense words, all mashed together with numbers—perfect boring material to pass out to.”</p>
<p>“Oh, great,” Tommy starts cheerily. “<em>So</em> helpful to know how many ccs of whateverthehellthisis I’d need if I got, like, stabbed in the chest or something.”</p>
<p>Connor raises his hands in playful surrender. “Just tossing out ideas. You have something better?”</p>
<p>It’s only as Tommy is giving the challenge some thought that he realizes how muted and distant the lonely ache of his nightmare now feels. The vacant house has bled out of mind and body, retreating back to the dark, locked corner in which it belongs. Tommy would even dare say he’s tired again, ready to drift back off and into better (or at least weirder) dreams.</p>
<p>But then there’s Connor, always so determined to fix and heal whatever he can, cycling through ideas for how best to help. <em>His brother</em>, trying to be there for Tommy <em>now</em> when he wasn’t for the initial hurt, through no fault of his own.</p>
<p>Maybe sleep can wait a while longer.</p>
<p>“Compared to yours?” Tommy scoffs, lips spreading in a taunting grin. “That’s not even a question.”</p>
<p>The sharp arch of Connor’s eyebrow is evidence enough that this is a challenge most eagerly accepted.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, I know <i>exactly</i> what I'm courting with that Tommy line near the end, but come on: some of you have been with me for a year now. You <i>know</i> that I'm not above making painful swipes at foreshadowing and other cruel ironies. </p>
<p>Anyways, hope you enjoyed! I'm still trying to get updates out when I can, but things <i>are</i> getting a little busier now, and frankly I've had to take a couple breaks to just let my brain write whatever it wants. So you'll still see new pieces here for sure, I'm just not holding myself as rigidly to a schedule as I was before, so I can have as much fun creating as I hope you have reading!</p>
<p>Until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. (Making me feel) I'm not alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A direct continuation of the previous installment: Tommy shares another ache from growing up, and may once again find healing in the present.</p><p>Prompt from Abbie: "Thank you for being in my life"</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And a happy 2021 to you all! I come bearing more <i>Old enough</i> hurt, with a splash of comfort. Hopefully it still makes for an enjoyable installment.</p><p>As noted above, this is the second part I was planning to go along with the last chapter--it took a bit, but I finally got it down! We'll pick up on the same night as we left off on last time, as the conversation is winding down... or so it seems at first.</p><p>Credit/blame again goes to Abbie, not only for the prompt, but for the key hurt/comfort element of this one. I was beautifully pained by the concept, and now I'm flinging it back.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <strong>January 2013</strong>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“You know,” Tommy yawns, just as Connor is beginning to drift back off to sleep. “I think I dreamt about something like this, back then.”</p><p>The only response Connor is able to muster is an incoherent mumble that’s half-muffled by having his face smooshed into the recliner’s leather covering. Not for lack of trying for something clearer, but with his eyelids fluttering and much too heavy to hold open for any length of time, any sort of audible noise is an achievement.</p><p>Tommy lets out a little laugh at that, though it’s more sheepish than amused. “Never mind,” he says, prelude to the faint shuffling of couch cushions and blanket. “Kept you up long enough already.”</p><p>Connor isn’t <em>so</em> far gone that his bullshit sensors are in idle mode, and he makes that fact incredibly clear with a jab of his finger in the general direction of the couch. “Nuh-uh,” he snaps out around his own yawn as he separates cheek from chair with a delicacy and precision typically reserved for the OR. “You stop that.”</p><p>The demand is met with a moment of surprised silence, before it’s broken by a pillow whistling through the air and smacking Connor full in the face.</p><p>“It’s the couch thing, isn’t it?” Tommy asks wryly as Connor flails back into an upright position and tries to keep the recliner from tipping over. “Have you thought about getting a guest room at some point, so I’m not mistaken for a therapy patient with my usual overnight accommodations?”</p><p>Connor flips his brother off with one hand before lobbing the pillow none-too-gently back with the other. Tommy just catches it and casually tucks it back behind his head.</p><p>“It’s not ‘the couch thing’,” Connor asserts, running a hand through his mussed hair as he turns his full attention back to Tommy. “It’s the ‘my brother is an asshole who still changes the subject even when he actually <em>wants</em> to talk about his feelings’ thing.”</p><p>“Oh, right, <em>that</em> thing,” Tommy gasps in understanding, eagerly snapping his fingers and glancing over at Connor with wide eyes. “See, I’m only used to the first half of that in practice. You <em>never</em> want to talk about your feelings, or what’s up, doc.”</p><p>“Cute.”</p><p>“So I’ve been told.” Tommy offers up a cheeky grin at that comment.</p><p>It must be infectious, as Connor finds himself shaking his head as the corner of his mouth twitches. He allows himself a breath of a laugh, before sobering and trying again. “Really, though—what were you getting at, about dreaming something like this?”</p><p>Tommy goes quiet again at the rebound of his words and looks away from Connor, but the slight hunch of his shoulders is telling. The avoidance is not to ignore the question, but because Tommy isn’t ready to stare his brother in the face while unraveling another vulnerability.</p><p>“I just meant… <em>this</em>,” he says, settling back on the couch and flapping a hand in the air between the two of them. “The late-night talking. The witty repartee. The… the whole <em>brothers</em> thing, you know?”</p><p>Connor furrows his brow, not entirely certain of where this is going, but still hums in acknowledgement and encouragement for Tommy to continue. Whatever his twin is getting at, it’s entirely deserving of Connor’s full attention.</p><p>Still, Tommy must sense his confusion, as he glances back at Connor out of the corner of his eye and offers up a wobbly smile. “Sorry, that’s not the most coherent way of putting it, and kind of the middle of the story. Could backtrack a bit.” He puffs his cheeks and blows out an exaggerated breath as he gazes back up to the ceiling. “I told you, way back at the beginning, that I already knew I was a twin.”</p><p>It’s not a question, but Connor still casts his mind back nearly five years and south of the border, to a bar table and an identical face (half-concealed by a towel full of ice) on the opposite side of it. To the memory of jokes cracked about evil twins and concussions, before the gravity of the situation was taken into full account and… was not met with much surprise.</p><p>“Thomas” <em>means</em> “twin.” <em>I’ve always found that kind of… morbid.</em></p><p>“I already knew,” Tommy repeats, interrupting his past self as the words echo in Connor’s mind. “For a long time, actually. But I didn’t <em>always</em> know.</p><p>“I was, oh,” Tommy lets out another deep sigh (if it wobbles a bit at the end, Connor doesn’t say anything) and sags deeper into the couch cushions, “five or six when I got bold enough to ask for a brother or sister. I mean, I had something close to it with Oliver, and it was still a few years before Thea came around, but I guess some other kid in class must have gotten a baby sibling and it got me thinking. So I, uh… I went to Mom.”</p><p>Connor’s breath catches quietly at the admission, both in surprise over the turn of events and the mention of Rebecca Merlyn. The few times Tommy has brought her up—both before and after the twins visited her grave—it’s always struck Connor how easily his brother drops any sort of possessive. Granted, mentions of Malcolm are given the same treatment (though much less respectfully), but it’s harder-hitting that Tommy doesn’t simply differentiate with a “<em>my </em>mom” when Rebecca hardly had and would never again have a chance to be <em>their</em> mom.</p><p>It’s the solid and calm knitting of Connor into the Merlyn family while he remains officially outside it and has another family that he still, complicatedly, thinks of as his own.</p><p>“She was… I mean, I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for her, getting pestered one day by her chatty, hyperactive kid about how much he wants a sibling of his own, and being hit head-on by the memory that there should be another little boy with his face.” Tommy pauses a moment to rub a hand over his face, before it lowers back to rest over his chest. “But she still told me everything, as best and kindly as she could for me to process it at that age. How I <em>did</em> have a brother, an identical twin, who grew with me before we were born and would have been just my age—an automatic best friend. And how, for one reason or another, he couldn’t stay with us or the world in general for very long at all.”</p><p>Connor tries his best to swallow the lump in his throat that slowly formed over the course of Tommy’s explanation, but his entire mouth feels dry. He can’t even fathom how he’d take it if he were in Tommy’s shoes even a few years ago, if he’d discovered that he had a blood sibling who’d passed before they’d had a chance to meet; knowing that Tommy had been given that heartbreak—as true as it was still presumed to be—at such a young age is a winding blow.</p><p>Tommy wrings his hands in the blanket, still staring up at the ceiling. “I think I understood in some abstract sense at that point—I knew I was supposed to have a brother and I was upset that I didn’t in the end, but there wasn’t really anything I could do about that. It was what it was.” He shrugs on that note and catches his bottom lip between his teeth in thought before quietly continuing, “So I didn’t actually process the enormity of the loss until just after Mom died and Dad left.”</p><p>“The nightmares,” Connor finally manages as his throat tightens even more, curling an arm around his abdomen as he shifts in the recliner. It almost physically hurts now, hearing his brother’s past pain unravel and knowing that part of it was due to the mix-up that landed Connor with the Rhodeses.</p><p>“More like the events that <em>caused</em> the nightmares, years later,” Tommy corrects, finally turning back to face Connor. “Just this big, empty house, and then me, this eight-year-old who doesn’t understand why everyone is <em>gone</em>.” He lets out a sigh, before shooting Connor a melancholy half-smile. “It figured that I tried to get through by reaching for the first person who left.”</p><p>And just like that, the penny drops.</p><p>“I dreamt up so many versions of an imaginary twin in those two years,” Tommy confirms before Connor can even attempt to say anything. “Can’t remember the specifics of any of them, but I get the impression that they were a bit less… stick-in-the-mud-y, to say the least.”</p><p>Connor doesn’t need his voice to greet that comment with a grumpy pout and withering glare, which only serves to delight Tommy.</p><p>He allows himself that moment of fun at Connor’s expense, before swallowing thickly and trying again. “Really, it didn’t even matter what they were like. All that did was that—at least in my head and my dreams, for just a little while—I had a brother to laugh and play and talk with, which meant I <em>wasn’t alone</em>.”</p><p>This time, when Tommy wipes a hand over his face, it’s accompanied by a small, smothered sniffle. Connor wouldn’t comment on it even if he could, given the haziness of his own vision.</p><p>The somber moment doesn’t last long, though, as Tommy whips the hand away from his face a moment later and claps, startling them both back to attention.</p><p>“And that concludes this year’s unpacking of emotional baggage,” he quips, though the amusement is noticeably forced. “That’s going to tide me over for a good long while, so I hope it’s satisfied any interest you may have had in dabbling in medical disciplines beyond your own.” Tommy rolls onto his side and tugs the blanket over his head before hitting the switch to the floor lamp again, plunging the living room back into darkness.</p><p>The abruptness of the dismissal leaves Connor gaping at the couch, but after a moment he lets out a lovingly exasperated sigh and pushes himself out of the recliner to stand. He should have expected that even though Tommy opened up after Connor’s nudging twice tonight, his brother is not content to let him take the win in full.</p><p>“Goodnight, asshole,” Connor tosses over his shoulder in a sleepy mumble as he makes his way down the hall to his room, intending to get at least a few hours of sleep in his own bed tonight. Comfy as that recliner might be short-term, he would prefer to avoid ending up at the chiropractor.</p><p>Connor has already crossed the threshold into his bedroom and out of hearing range by the time the couch cushions shuffle again and a hand nudges the blanket away a bit.</p><p>“Thank you for being in my life, Connie,” Tommy murmurs into the dark, as he at long last lets go of the chain of paper cut-out imaginary twins that carried him through a lonely childhood.</p><p>Not even the most carefully-crafted of the would-be brothers is worth trading the real one down the hall.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This wraps up this <i>Old enough</i> two-parter--hope you enjoyed! </p><p>I'm not sure what the next installment will be or for which Merlyn Boys universe, but I'm certainly aiming for it to be a bit happier/sillier than this arc. Stayed tuned!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Fort Kickass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p><i>Old enough</i> 'verse: A quiet night in with the twins, complete with brotherly banter.</p>
<p>Prompt from Abbie: "This is an intricately constructed blanket fort. It'd be a shame if it went to waste."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This one has been sitting half-started in my prompt collection for nearly a year, as I always got stuck on trying to find a thread of plot in it. While I've somehow managed to turn it into almost 1.4K of Tommy and Connor snarking at each other (slapped out while experiencing a crash from dealing with at least a month of work-related stress), there is still no real plot to it. But really, that's just Merlyn Boys fluff for you--maybe I just don't write enough of it to know that well enough...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>
      <strong>August 2012</strong>
    </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>“Tommy.”</p>
<p>“Mmhmm?”</p>
<p>“When you said you wanted to stay for the week, I was more than happy to have you, but I <em>did</em> stipulate that you’d need to help out a bit while I’m at work.”</p>
<p>There’s a faint clank of metal on teeth, then a popping noise as Tommy frees the spoon from his mouth. “And<em> I</em> was more than happy to comply,” he points out, waving both the spoon and the now-empty yogurt container. “See? Did a grocery run, per your request.”</p>
<p>“And I appreciate that,” Connor says, keeping his voice level. His gaze lifts from his brother sitting cross-legged on the living room carpet and scans over the cloth monstrosity that’s consumed his furniture. “But ‘take every sheet and blanket I own and toss them all over the place’ was definitely not one of the suggestions I had.”</p>
<p>Tommy points the spoon again in acknowledgement, before setting it and the yogurt on top of the paper towel on the coffee table. “No, no it was not. This was something I decided to throw in free of charge, because I am such a considerate brother. I can assure you, it’s the most beneficial thing I could possibly do for you.”</p>
<p>“Do enlighten me.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I will. Because this?” Tommy sweeps his arms dramatically over his head, grazing the heather gray flannel sheet canopied above him. “This is an intricately constructed blanket fort. It’d be a shame if it went to waste.”</p>
<p>“A blanket fort,” Connor repeats slowly, crossing his arms. The corners of his eyes twitch after a moment’s consideration. “Well, you’ve had stupider ideas.”</p>
<p>“I… am not going to deny that,” Tommy jabs his finger at Connor to punctuate, “but I <em>do</em> resent the implication that this counts among them. After all my hard work…” He sighs, more for dramatic effect than out of actual hurt, but otherwise doesn’t budge from his spot.</p>
<p>Alright, Connor’ll bite.</p>
<p>“So, what’s your pitch?” He steps closer, slow and careful, and stops just shy of the fort’s opening. “How is this supposed to be helpful for me? From where I’m standing, it only looks like a hassle to clean up.” Connor pauses a moment, craning his head to peer under the canopy and into the depths of the fort itself. “You better not have dismantled anything in making this, by the way.”</p>
<p>Tommy holds up his hand in solemn promise. “As much as assembling furniture has a way of bringing people together…”</p>
<p>“Tearing them apart, more like it.”</p>
<p>The raised hand turns into another sharp finger-point. “That only happens if you let the incoherent instructions win.” Tommy calmly lowers his hand to his side and gets them back on track. “But we don’t need to worry about that, because no bookshelves were harmed in the making of this fort. Moved some chairs and appropriated the couch cushions for other purposes, and that’s it—simple enough to put back in order.”</p>
<p>Connor just responds with a flat hum: accepting the conditions, but still not sold. “Again, the point of this?”</p>
<p>Something goes soft in Tommy’s expression, and he leans back against one of the repurposed couch cushions. “Did you ever have one of these, growing up?”</p>
<p>Connor has to actually take a moment and think back, brushing through the thick cluster of cobwebs that’s obscured a number of childhood memories (and which he hadn’t exactly taken measures to prevent). “We would have still been really young, both under ten,” he starts slowly, brow furrowing as the sun-faded recollections surface, “but I think Claire and I made a couple small ones in our rooms, on rainy summer days. D- <em>Cornelius</em> felt strongly about keeping the living room as pristine as one would look in a showroom, so our options were kind of limited.”</p>
<p>He can’t help the bitterness that slips into his tone at that detail, a telling depiction of the man who (in a very loose sense of the term) raised him and his preoccupation with the Rhodes family’s image.</p>
<p>Tommy closes his eyes and nods sagely at that. “So, about what I expected—it’s been a long time, and you never really got to enjoy the full experience.” Eyes opening once more, he spreads his arms like a showman, complete with a matching grin. “That changes now.”</p>
<p>While that does get Connor to crack a smile of his own and crouch down—not <em>quite</em> ready to duck under the blanket tent, but more receptive—Tommy still hasn’t answered his question in full. “Why now?”</p>
<p>The cheery entertainer’s mask falters like a buffering video, before Tommy lets it slip for good to reveal the quiet, earnest face underneath. “I know I didn’t time this trip well,” he starts, settling against the cushion to look back at Connor.</p>
<p>Sensing where his brother might be going with this, Connor cuts in with a hasty shake of his head. “We planned this all out well ahead of time. I took a few extra shifts last week in exchange for some of mine being covered while you’re in town.” He shrugs. “I just wasn’t able to take the full week off, and that was beyond our control.”</p>
<p>“Still,” Tommy is quick to fire back, “you had a week with a heavier workload, and no downtime between that and my blowing into town.” He makes a V with his fingers and flicks them between his eyes and Connor’s. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re <em>not</em> burnt out and need a quiet evening.”</p>
<p>That’s a challenge if Connor’s ever heard one—especially given the truth of the accusation—and for as natural as it is for him to rise to it… maybe he’ll let his twin have this win.</p>
<p>(<em>Just</em> this once.)</p>
<p>“Alright, move over,” he sighs, exaggeratedly grudging, as he drops to the carpet and scoots back to join Tommy. “Like you said, could at least get some use out of it before taking it down.”</p>
<p>Tommy’s grin is all too smug as Connor settles in the fort, but he holds his tongue and instead reaches for a small bucket of beer bottles tucked to his right.</p>
<p>Connor’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline as Tommy rolls back to center and offers up one of the two beers in his hand. “Pretty sure this isn’t part of the usual blanket fort experience.”</p>
<p>“It’s an adaptation,” Tommy amends, passing the bottle and opener. “If this were truer to form, we’d have a much more expansive—and probably structurally unsound—fort on our hands.” He purses his lips in the facial equivalent of a shrug, accepting the bottle opener from Connor and popping the cap on his own beer. “I decided to go for something more sophisticated, better suited to us in our advanced age.”</p>
<p>Connor comes uncomfortably close to discovering how it feels to shoot beer out of his nose, but manages to avoid it with a hasty swallow. “You. <em>Sophisticated.</em> Right,” he ekes out, voice strained as he clears his throat of rogue alcohol.</p>
<p>Tommy meets that comment with a friendly shove. “And here I was going to leave you the honor of naming our beautiful fort.”</p>
<p>“It gets a <em>name</em>, now?” Another deep cough, and Connor turns towards his brother with an eyebrow arched in suspicion. “What, are we going to spend the night hanging out in Fort Kickass, or something equally refined?”</p>
<p>Tommy’s face goes disconcertingly contemplative at that. “I think I just changed my mind.”</p>
<p>“<em>Wait</em>, no…”</p>
<p>“I mean, I had ideas, but look at you, Connie, coming up with a real winner right away!”</p>
<p>“That was a— !”</p>
<p>Tommy definitively cuts off Connor’s rebuttals by hoisting his beer and shooting Connor a pointed glance. “To Fort Kickass, and an evening of just chilling.”</p>
<p>As chagrined as he is that the name sarcastically thrown out is going to stick, it just doesn’t feel right for Connor to leave his brother hanging.</p>
<p>“To Fort Kickass,” he finally agrees as he lifts his own bottle, “and to looking out for each other when we need it most.”</p>
<p>Connor can’t fight the smile that comes to his face at the approving clink of their glasses, especially when he sees it mirrored back at him on Tommy’s.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know I've been slowing down on these for a while now (other aspects of my life have been absolutely draining, and I'm not happy about it), but hopefully these ficlets still bring a bit of fun! I've also been focusing a bit more on <i>Old enough</i> pieces lately, but if there's interest in checking back in with some of our other Infinite Merlyn Boys--and maybe even new ones!--I'll certainly see what I can do about looping back to those! </p>
<p>Until next time!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Unlike with <i>Old enough</i> (where I had ~ 75-80% written), I actually jumped into posting with many, many pieces still in progress, so things are going to come as they may.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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